


Restoration

by DestielTheShipOfDreams



Series: Fallen and Falling [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Anal Sex, Angelic Possession, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Cute, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean is Loved, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Family Fluff, First Time, Happy Ending, Helpful Hannah, Human Castiel in the Bunker, Long, Love Confessions, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Crowley/Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Protective Charlie Bradbury, Relationship Negotiation, Road Trips, Sassy Kevin, Series, Shower Sex, Supportive Sam Winchester, Tattoo Kink, bunker family, charlie and kevin are BFFs, dean appreciation, something resembling plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-27 23:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielTheShipOfDreams/pseuds/DestielTheShipOfDreams
Summary: Castiel and Dean have something good and they're not letting go, of each other or of the family they love. But the world keeps turning and Cas is still new to this whole human thing. It was never going to be easy, was it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers, and welcome! This is Part Three of the fic series 'Fallen and Falling', following on from 'Escalation' and 'Complication'. If you haven't read those two, I suggest you do so! This picks up pretty much directly from the end of 'Complication'.  
> I know y'all were looking forward to a lover's reunion but come on, this situation is about Sam and so Dean's attention is kind of on that. Because Sam. Obs.  
> Enjoy and please leave a comment!

By the time we get to the bunker I’m nervous enough that even Hannah has picked up on it, despite her limited understanding of body language. She stares at me from the corner of my eye as I pull the Impala over a good fifty feet from the bunker entrance, palms sweaty on the steering wheel and jaw clenching involuntarily.

 

“Castiel,” she says slowly, dubiously. “You seem… tense.”

 

I snort, turning off the engine and yanking out the keys a little more aggressively than necessary. “Do I?”

 

I glance over to see her nodding seriously. I sigh and shrug. “It’s alright, Hannah. It’s just that this could be disastrous if it goes wrong. Whoever Ezekiel really is, we don’t know what he’s capable of.”

 

Hannah’s mouth twists and she looks away through the windscreen, eyes troubled. “True. Before the fall, nearly all angels free to walk on Earth were trustworthy and sound beings. Now, all of Heaven is down here. The good and the bad. Many angels of ill repute are now free in human hosts-”

 

I tune out as she continues her melancholy speech, pulling my phone from my pocket to text Dean.

 

_We have arrived. Waiting outside. What do you want us to do?_

__

Dean’s reply is swift.

 

_OK wait there, I’m sending Kevin out. Don’t want him caught up_

__

I’m about to send back a confirmation when Hannah says something that instantly catches my attention. I whip my gaze back up to her, alert. “What?”

 

She pauses, blinking at me. “What is it?”

 

“What were you saying? Just now, right then.”

 

“I was speaking of the angels who were imprisoned in Heaven and are now free on Earth. In fact, this Ezekiel impostor could well be one.”

 

“Of course,” I breathe. “Of course, the prisoners in Heaven. They fell too.”

 

Hannah nods. “Yes. All in Heaven fell. Including known criminals like-”

 

“Gadreel.”

 

Hannah frowns at me. “Gadreel is one, yes.”

 

My mind is racing. I can’t believe that this never occurred to me before. Ezekiel, as he calls himself, so defensive of Gadreel when Kevin referred to him, so affected by his story. I surmised that there must be some sort of link and Dean guessed at a hero worship sort of situation. And there is a link, but it’s not hero worship. The link between the angel inhabiting Sam and Gadreel is so obvious now.

 

The angel inhabiting Sam… is Gadreel.

 

“It’s Gadreel,” I say excitedly, sitting up straight. “Ezekiel, he’s Gadreel!”

 

Hannah tilts her head and then nods. “Alright.”

 

Even as I’m fumbling for my phone to text Dean this new information, Hannah touches my arm and I look up to see her gazing towards the bunker entrance. I glance that way to see Kevin emerging, walking briskly towards us through the gathering dusk. I get out of the car and Hannah does too; Kevin is staring at her suspiciously as he draws near.

 

“Hi,” he says doubtfully to her. She inclines her head silently. He eyes her for a moment more before turning to me and actually smiling, stepping forward to clap my arm. “Castiel! Good to have you back, man. That was a pretty dramatic exercise you and Dean pulled yesterday morning.”

 

I smile at him but I can’t quite believe that it’s only been one night. “It was. I apologise for deceiving you. You understand the situation now?”

 

He nods solemnly. “Sam’s a holy meatsuit.”

 

I grimace but concede. “Well, yes. Oh, Kevin, this is Hannah. She has agreed to help us, to take the place of the angel inside Sam once we eject him.”

 

I gesture at the still, watchful angel on the other side of the Impala and Kevin looks across at her with keen interest.

 

“It’s good to meet you, Hannah,” he says, more relaxed now. He hesitates before repeating the greeting in a heavily accented approximation of Enochian and I smile at Hannah in amusement, quickly rearranging my expression when Kevin glances nervously at me. Hannah looks mildly surprised, which is an animated expression for her. Kevin shrugs and stares at his feet. There’s a moment of quiet, quickly broken my my exclamation as I dig for my phone again.

 

“I forgot! I need to tell Dean that Ezekiel is really Gadreel.”

 

Kevin blinks at me in astonishment. “Ezekiel is really Gadreel?”

 

I nod distractedly as I quickly type out a text notifying Dean. “I think so. It was your conversation with Sam - not Sam, of course, as I’m sure you now realise - that alerted me to the link between ‘Ezekiel’ and Gadreel. I should have figured it out then. He is Gadreel. Of course, this doesn’t change much, but it could be useful.”

 

Dean responds just as swiftly as before. _Shit u might be right. OK I’m bout 2 walk down 2 the basement now with Sam. Come in in 2 mins and go straight there._

__

Taking a deep breath, I send back an agreement and then shove my phone into my pocket. I check my angel blade and hand Kevin the Impala keys, reminding him to be ready to act as getaway driver if things go wrong. He scowls and opens his mouth, predictably about to argue. I cut across him brusquely.

 

“We don’t have time for heroics, Kevin. There is a plan in place. Please do your part.” His shoulders slump and I soften my tone, touching his arm lightly. “It will be easier to get this done knowing that you’re safe. I promised that we would protect you. Let me keep that promise.”

 

Kevin nods slowly, looking unhappy but resigned. He takes the keys and slides into the Impala. I turn to Hannah, who is looking tense and alert. “Castiel, it’s probably time to go in. You should lead the way.”

 

I nod and set off, casting one last backwards glance at a worried-looking Kevin. Hannah is almost silent at my elbow, her footsteps light and quiet despite the uneven gravel of the laneway. The last faded neons of sunset streak the western horizon as we reach the bunker door and I take a steadying breath as I pull out my key and unlock it. We step in.

 

It’s odd how comforting it is to be back in the bunker, considering what we’re about to attempt within the familiar space. My nerves recede somewhat as Hannah and I jog down the steps into what I’ve begun to think of as my home. They quickly pick up again as we walk briskly towards the room that conceals the dungeon. The door is open. I clench my fists, swallow down my fear and round the corner with Hannah at my side.

 

The shelves are pushed aside, revealing the dungeon. In the middle of the devil’s trap - which is currently lit on fire with the distinctive scent of holy oil filling the air - stands Sam.

 

Then he turns to look at me, and I can see that it’s not Sam.

 

“Castiel,” hisses the angel who is not Ezekiel, eyes furious and shoulders hunched. I stride forward.

 

“Gadreel,” I greet coolly. He flinches, looking shocked.

 

“Yeah, I didn’t tell him we know that part yet.”

 

I spin to see Dean standing off to the side, sleeves rolled up and blood dripping from a slice in his palm. My breath catches with relief at seeing him again and I want to go to him, but now is not the time for reunions. Dean gazes steadily into my eyes, still and focused. He radiates determination. As I stare at him, he gives me the smallest of smiles and I feel my confidence in the situation rise up a notch. I incline my head at him and then turn back to face Gadreel, who is glaring at Hannah.

 

“You should not be helping these humans, sister,” he hisses at her. She blinks impassively.

 

“No, I ‘should not be’ taking advice from an angel who is best known in Heaven for complete and total failure,” she says with the barest hint of derision. I raise my eyebrows, surprised and impressed. I didn’t think that Hannah had that sort of edge to her. Gadreel steps forward, snarling, but holds himself back from touching the edge of the holy fire. He looks livid. Hannah eyes him and then continues. “Besides, Castiel may be human but he was an angel, and I believe he will be again. His mistakes do not cancel out what he has achieved and might still do for our kind. Gadreel, you have been found out in your deception. Whatever you may have been planning is foiled. Use this as an opportunity. Join me in following Castiel and taking revenge upon Metatron, who destroyed Heaven. Whatever he offered you is not worth it. Your name is sullied and has been for too long. Do not shame yourself further by collaborating with the enemy who betrayed us all.”

 

I shift uncomfortably during Hannah’s speech and very carefully do not look at Dean. I was hoping that he wouldn’t immediately discover the strange position of leadership I’ve found myself in. It’s oddly embarrassing. I focus on Gadreel, who is shaking his head angrily.

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, sister. Why should I feel loyalty to Heaven? I barely recall the time before I was a prisoner. All I have known from my fellow angels for far too long is scorn and blame. The fall was not betrayal for me. It was freedom. You name Metatron as your enemy, but though his actions were extreme, he at least wants to create real change and lead our kind to a better life. You speak of following Castiel, but he is weak. He is nothing but a whore for this human, he has debased himself-”

 

“Hey, how about you shut the fuck up?” Dean says loudly, stepping forward. I feel sick. I’m not ashamed of my relationship with Dean, but hearing Gadreel’s disgusted response to it feels like a physical blow. I look down at my feet, take a deep breath, tell myself to focus on the plan. But Gadreel isn’t finished.

 

“Who are you to speak to an angel of the Lord in such a way, Dean Winchester? Just because Castiel forgot the order of the world and submitted himself to you, you think you hold power over me? I am a true angel-”

 

“Yeah, actually,” Dean interrupts sharply. I glance up at him. He’s beautiful in the light from the holy fire, fierce-eyed and strong. In that moment, he looks more like an angel than Gadreel does. “I do hold power over you. Check it out.”

 

With that, he raises his bloody hand and slams it into the wall beside him, shooting me an urgent look. I push past Hannah and run to the opposite side of the dungeon, dragging my angel blade across my palm as I go. The sting is barely there as I press it to the very centre of the wall and lift my voice to echo Dean’s as he begins chanting in Enochian, my accent smooth and natural alongside his rough pronunciation. Adrenaline pumps through me and lends strength to my words. Slowly, the symbols daubed in holy oil begin to glow, starting from around our hands and spreading across the dungeon walls. Within twenty seconds a complex pattern is shining from floor to ceiling on either side of Gadreel, who has dropped to his knees and is shaking his head, groaning.

 

Hannah backs out of the room, out of reach of the powerful spell designed to force angels out of their hosts. Across the holy fire and Gadreel’s pained form, I meet Dean’s eyes as we near the end of the Enochian spell. He nods at me, eyes bright and desperate. As we say the last word in unison, we both pull sharply away from the wall and the glowing holy oil bursts into flame. Gadreel throws his head back and screams as he’s ripped from Sam and I gasp at the wave of heat that engulfs the room. I stumble to my hands and knees, squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught. I feel like I’ve been split apart at an atomic level and pushed crudely back together again. I feel like the power of the spell was fueled directly by my own energy, leaving me stunned and helpless on the floor. I feel very human.

 

Then the heat is gone, and there is silence but for the heavy sound of my own breathing. I’m utterly sapped and my skin is numb, except for the continuing background sting and ache of my new tattoo. I push slowly to my feet, trembling. When I open my eyes they fix immediately upon the sprawled body amidst the guttering remains of the circle of holy fire on the floor.

 

Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise that chapter two would go up straight away as well :)

I stumble to Sam’s side just a second after Dean and I watch with a tense throat as Dean pats roughly at his brother’s cheek, voice cracking as he calls his name.

 

“Sam. Sammy, come on, man. Sam. Sam!”

 

I almost collapse with relief when the younger man groans, eyes blinking blearily open. “Dean… what the… what the fuck was… that…”

 

Dean makes a sound that could almost be a sob and gathers Sam to him in a clumsy hug. “Dude, don’t scare me like that! You OK?”

 

Sam struggles to sit up and then slumps back down again, face white and drawn. “Shit. No, shit, I don’t think I am… but what the… Dean, what happened?”

 

Dean hesitates and I reach out, touching Sam’s shoulder. He turns and focuses on me with some difficulty. I clear my throat. “Sam, there’s something that we’ve been keeping from you.”

 

I pause but Dean nods at me, mouth twisting with fear. He doesn’t know how to tell Sam this. Neither do I, but I’ll try. Sam stares at me in suspicious confusion and I continue uncomfortably. “It was when you were in hospital. You were dying after the trials and Dean was about to lose you. So... he found a way to save you. He found an angel to stay inside you and heal you. That’s the only reason you’ve survived and felt relatively normal so far.”

 

There’s a ringing silence and then Sam looks up at Dean incredulously. “You did what?!”

 

Dean glances at me as though asking for more help, but I can only grimace at him. This was his choice, and this conversation is for Sam and Dean to have. I squeeze Dean’s shoulder and then scramble inelegantly to my feet, forcing myself to move. “I’ll go and get you some painkillers, Sam. You must have a headache.”

 

Sam nods, pressing a hand to his forehead, but his eyes barely meet mine before fixing back onto his brother once more. Dean scowls at me and I shrug at him; this is really not my business and Sam would not appreciate me continuing to intervene on Dean’s behalf, which is all I would do if I stayed. I gesture for Hannah to follow me as I leave the dungeon. She obeys with no hesitation, which makes me uneasy. I still don’t really want to be her ‘leader’.

 

“That was a dark and powerful spell that you and Dean used,” she ventures as we walk slowly up the hall. I nod. “It will have taken a lot of your energy.”

 

It did. I feel drained. I feel ridiculously weak and tired.

 

“Yes. Dean enlisted Kevin’s help this morning, when Sam was out on his morning run and Dean actually told Kevin what’s been happening. Kevin altered a spell he found to override the usual protections of possession. It does take a lot of power to eject an angel from his vessel without the vessel’s help, though. I’m just glad it worked.”

 

Hannah murmurs agreement as we arrive at the bathroom and as I reach out to open the cupboard, I come to a belated awareness that my hand is still bleeding sluggishly. I wince and Hannah silently touches my wrist, barely brushing over the skin there. I watch the gash in my palm heal over and give Hannah an awkward nod of thanks, which she responds to with an equally awkward half-smile. My smile drops as I pull open the cupboard and feel my skin pulling at my tattoo, along with the bandage atop it. I suddenly recall Jules the tattoo artist telling me sternly to take the dressing off by six o’clock. It’s now past nine.

 

“Shit,” I mutter, hurriedly pulling my shirt up and peering down at the bandage. Hannah looks at it curiously and I glance at her, wondering if an angel could heal a tattoo without damaging the work at all. But before I can ask, she leans forward and passes a steady hand over my ribs. I feel the insistent pain disappear and I gulp as I peel the covering off of my skin, anxious that the carefully inked warding will be gone along with the injury done to get it there.

 

The tattoo is delicate and dark against my soothed skin, totally undamaged by the healing. I exhale in a rush, relieved and grateful.

 

“Thank you, Hannah,” I say sincerely and hoarsely. She smiles more fully this time, looking pleased. I discard the bandage and then rummage in the cupboard for painkillers. Stowing them in my pocket, I rinse out the toothbrush cup and fill it with water. I drink the water in three huge gulps, then fill it again for Sam. I’m feeling more and more dazed and lethargic by the second. The angel at my side watches me quietly until we head back out into the hall, when she speaks up again.

 

“We were speaking of Kevin. He is a prophet?”

 

“Yes, he-” I stop suddenly with a groan. “I haven’t told him! Hannah, please hold this, I need to- thanks-”

 

Hannah takes the cup of water I thrust at her and I fumble in my pocket for my phone, a headache of my own starting to form behind my eyes. I quickly type out a text to let Kevin know what’s happened.

 

_Gadreel gone. Sam and Dean talking. Safe to come in._

__

I’m having trouble walking in a straight line as we re-enter the dungeon. Sam is sitting upright on the floor, with Dean crouched next to him as though ready to catch him if he collapses. Dean looks almost worse than his brother, though, and as bad as I feel. I fall heavily to my knees beside them and offer Sam the water and painkillers in silence. He takes them, peering at me dubiously. “Thanks, Cas, but are you sure you don’t need some yourself?”

 

I shake my head wearily. “Not in much pain, really. Just the effects of the spell. Dean and I may not be able to maintain consciousness for much longer. Sam, has Dean explained to you why Hannah is here?”

 

Sam looks up at Hannah and then shoots a bitter sideways glance at Dean, who is looking irritable. “No, he didn’t get that far. I still haven’t gotten a good explanation for why he thought it was OK to manipulate me into accepting possession by a total stranger, who apparently turned out to be a wanted criminal.”

 

“What the hell was I supposed to do?” Dean grumbles, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. Sam takes the painkillers before speaking, not looking at his brother.

 

“You could have respected my choice, Dean.”

 

Dean bristles, despite looking like he’s about to pass out, and I cut across him before he can retort. “Well, I for one am glad he didn’t. You’re alive, Sam. Dean might not have done what you think is right. He might not have done what is right at all. But he did it for a good reason; he doesn’t want to lose you. Nor do I. Please, Sam. You’re not well enough yet to be without an angel healing you.”

 

Sam sighs. “Yeah, well, moot point because Gadreel or Ezekiel, or whoever was wearing me, has been blasted away. So what happens now?”

 

I turn and beckon Hannah. She kneels down next to me, staring calmly at Sam. He frowns at her. “Yeah, I was meaning to ask; who are you?”

 

She tilts her head and, reaching across to Dean, brushes her fingers across the back of his hand. He jolts back from her but when he lifts the hand she touched, it’s covered in dried blood yet the cut from the spell is gone. Healed. Sam watches this and his mouth tightens as realisation dawns. “You’re an angel.”

 

She nods serenely and he closes his eyes in apparent disbelief.

 

“You guys want me to do it again.”

 

“Yeah, we do,” comes Kevin’s voice from the doorway. He steps into the room, looks at Hannah and then back at Sam. “I know this whole thing sucks, man. It’s crazy. But there’s no point dying when there’s an angel right here who can help you. And Hannah doesn’t seem like a psycho, although with our track record she probably is, but hey. Worth a shot.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes, jaw still tense. “Hannah, no offence to you. I’m sure you’re, uh, great. But I never wanted this in the first place so I’m sure you can understand why I’m not jumping at the chance to invite another-”

 

“Sam.”

 

Dean’s voice is hoarse and weak but Sam stops immediately before slowly turning to face his brother, almost reluctantly. Dean is pale and hunched but his eyes are desperate and fixed on Sam. My throat constricts to see tears gleaming in the usually stoic green gaze. “Sam, please. Please just do this and get better. I need you with me, man. Please.”

 

I lean across Sam to grip Dean’s hand and the younger Winchester glances down at the movement before looking back up at his brother. They stare at each other for a long, drawn out moment before Sam sighs and nods, eyes still angry. “Shit, I hope I don’t regret this. But I guess I’m kinda glad I’m alive too. OK, Dean, I’ll do this. But don’t you ever - and I mean ever ever - take that kind of choice away from me again. You don’t get to control me just because you care.”

 

Dean closes his eyes in exhausted relief and squeezes my hand lightly, before opening his eyes and nodding in silent frantic agreement at Sam. I squeeze back. I’m starting to struggle to concentrate on what’s happening, but I know that this is good. Sam is going to be OK. The plan worked. We did it. I feel certain that I’ll be able to appreciate it all much more after some sleep.

 

Sam has turned back to look at Hannah. He eyes her for a moment before nodding. “You have my permission.”

 

She inclines her head but stands up smoothly and starts to move away. I struggle to my feet too, confused. “Hannah?”

 

She looks back. “Yes?”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

She frowns. “I need to lie down and put my vessel into an indefinite sleep state for while I’m healing Sam. Otherwise she will regain control of the body and leave and I will be left without a vessel to return to. She misses her husband.”

 

I recoil, guilty over the poor woman trapped inside the body that Hannah has taken. It’s much harder to ignore the cruelty of possession now that I truly own my own body. But that is the reality of angels, and we need Hannah. So I nod reluctantly, swaying on my feet a little, feeling ready to collapse. “Alright. We’ll follow you.”

 

I can hear Sam and Dean helping one another up behind me, undoubtedly both as unsteady and weak as me. I begin to trudge after Hannah, who appears to be following Kevin. He thankfully leads us to the closest bedroom, which happens to be mine, but I don’t care in the slightest. I just need this to be done so that I can sleep.

 

We file into the room and watch Hannah arrange herself on the bed. She explains that she is putting her vessel’s true owner into a catatonic state which will only be broken by an angel re-activating her mind, and that the body will be preserved without sustenance and through any temperature. I nod dully. Sam goes and sits by Hannah on the bed and she speaks to him in an almost professional manner about how they will go about her possession of him. I’m almost drifting off standing up when I feel someone step up close beside me. Turning, I see Dean blinking tiredly at me. He smiles and after a beat, I smile back.

 

“Hey,” he whispers. I sigh and pull him into my arms, pressing my face to his shoulder. He makes a muffled noise and wraps me up in a hug, warm and close. I realise how stressed and worried and scared I’ve been since the false break up took place, and think fervently that I never ever want to go through a real one.

 

I hear Sam say something and Dean starts to pull away; I groan and try to tug him back. He chuckles and loops his arm around my hips, half leaning on me even as I lean on him. I look at Sam to see him standing beside the unconscious form of Hannah, or Hannah’s vessel. He shrugs, mouth twisting.

 

“It’s done. I don’t like it, but at least Hannah isn’t hiding from me. I can feel her. Up here.” He taps his temple, grimacing. “Anyway, I guess that’s that. You guys did some pretty decent acting to pull this off. I’m still pissed as hell, but hey… kudos. You got rid of Gadreel and I’m still on the mend. Job done. Time for us all to rest, yeah?”

 

I nod blearily and Sam echoes the gesture, looking tense. His gaze moves from me down to the floor and he abruptly strides past us towards the door. Dean lets go of me and quickly moves towards him, clearly trying to intercept him or say goodnight.

 

Sam shoulders him aside and leaves the room without a backward glance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no Sam and Dean are mad at each other! I mean, it's not fun, but it happens. Luckily Cas and Dean are most certainly not mad at each other :)

There’s a lingering silence after Sam makes his exit. Kevin hovers awkwardly.

 

“OK then,” the prophet says, scratching at the back of his neck. “I guess that went well? I mean, Sam will understand once he cools off. In the meantime… yeah, you both look pretty dead. I’ll stay up for a bit if Sam needs anything. Go sleep it off.”

 

Dean is still looking crestfallen but there’s not much to be done about the rift between him and Sam; certainly not before we get some much-needed rest. I clap Kevin on the shoulder with a nod and then pull Dean out of the room, mind aching with how drained I feel. Dean stumbles behind me and I don’t bother to do more than toe off my shoes and shrug out of my overshirt when we reach his room. I step towards the bed and then turn back to see Dean leaning back against the closed door to clumsily unlace his boots. As I watch, he manages to tug them off and then looks up and meets my gaze. I stare at him for a moment. Despite wanting desperately to close my eyes and go to sleep, I never want to look away. He holds my stare as he walks until he’s right in front of me.

 

“I missed you,” he says quietly. I blink at him and reply just as softly.

 

“I missed you too, Dean.”

 

He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine, just once, before taking my hand and pulling me into bed. The mattress feels luxurious as I sink into it. I barely notice Dean prodding me into place so that he’s curled around me from behind, one arm wedged under the pillow and the other wrapped around my waist. He sighs against the nape of my neck and I echo him, tired but basking in the warmth and comfort.  

 

And then we sleep.

 

It’s a long, blissful, dreamless sleep. I come into awareness the next morning with Dean breathing slowly and quietly in my ear, an arm flung across my chest and a leg wound around one of mine. I need to urinate, which is what woke me, but it’s not urgent enough for me to move yet. I run sleepily over recent events in my mind and come to the conclusion that everything is truly alright. Sam is well. Kevin is safe. The angel in our home is one that I trust and who respects me, rather than a liar who wants me gone. And Dean is here, close and warm, sleeping soundly. We did it! We did it and we’re together again. I turn my head and press my mouth to Dean’s forehead, smiling lazily.

 

I feel lethargic and heavy, but not half-dead like I did before sleeping. I’m a little achy but otherwise I can’t detect any damage to myself. It seems that the effects of Kevin’s spell weren’t long-lasting. Really, other than the growing pressure coming from my bladder I feel quite relaxed. I stretch as carefully as possible, trying not to wake Dean. But he’s a hunter, and hunters sleep light.

 

“Huh?” he mumbles, nosing briefly at my jaw before rolling away a little, face screwed up around a suppressed yawn. “Wha…?”

 

“Nothing,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

 

Dean hums in acknowledgment but cracks his eyes open sleepily, peering at me. He smiles. “Cas.”

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

The smile widens. “Goddamn, it’s good to have you back.”

 

He flops on top of me again, slipping his arms around my waist and then rolling backwards once more, dragging me with him, huffing at the weight. I grunt in surprise, ending up clumsily sprawled half over him with my face buried in the pillow. The bladder pressure is spiking with all the movement and I have too much weight on one hipbone; it’s not comfortable. But Dean is squeezing me and nuzzling my shoulder playfully and sighing as though he’s utterly content, so I give a muffled chuckle and stay put for several seconds before heaving myself away. Dean actually pouts.

 

“I was comfy.”

 

“I wasn’t,” I reply mildly, rolling off of the bed and standing up with another stretch. I pull yesterday’s plaid shirt on, despite it smelling vaguely unpleasant. It’s a chilly morning. “I have to go to the bathroom. I might get a coffee while I’m up. Would you like anything?”

 

Dean rubs his eyes and hums, which I take to mean that he probably wants a coffee as well. But as I pad towards the door, I hear him getting up too and I turn back expectantly. Dean is trudging after me, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Hang on, wait up, I’m coming. Not to the bathroom, I figure you can do that all by yourself. I wanna check on Sam.”

 

I nod and push the door open. Dean and I part ways silently and easily, but I still feel impatient as I use the toilet and brush my teeth. I want a shower but I want to see how Sam and Hannah are doing more, and as needy as it feels I don’t want to be away from Dean for long if I can help it. Not yet.

 

When I’ve made the coffees I take them to Sam’s room, calling out quietly before nudging open the already ajar door. Sam is sitting messy-haired on his bed in boxers and t shirt, shadows under his eyes but a healthy colour to his skin. He looks young like this. Dean leans against the dresser, arms folded and mouth set, looking decidedly older than usual. The tension in the room is obvious, but I smile politely at Sam as I settle beside Dean and pass him his coffee.

 

“Good morning, Sam. And Hannah. How are you feeling?”

 

Sam shrugs easily, but his flinty gaze returns quickly to his brother. “Hannah’s fine, she’s staying pretty quiet. And I’m… I don’t know. Same as when I went to bed, I guess.”

 

Dean sips his coffee as I nod slowly. I open my mouth to speak again but the man beside me shifts and mutters: “Still sulking, then.”

 

Sam’s face turns cold and I glare at Dean, annoyed by his lack of patience. “Dean. That’s not helpful.”

 

He shoots me an unimpressed look, which I return readily before ignoring him in favour of the younger Winchester. “Sam, I understand your frustration. You were lied to and your privacy was invaded. What Dean did, and what I did in aiding the deception… it was wrong, yes. I apologise. But I know that you understand doing the wrong thing to save your family.”

 

Sam huffs a short laugh, attention on me now. “Yeah, I do, Cas. I also understand that doing that shit sucks. It creates more problems and more pain, and it’s selfish. We have to stop this crappy cycle of doing anything to save each other. From what Dean says, I made a choice. And if that choice was to die, so be it. He should have let me go.”

 

Dean is shaking his head beside me. I echo him, feeling lost and pained. There must be some way to make Sam see that what’s happened has been for the best, because he’s alive. “But you didn’t die. You’re alive, we’re all together. Surely you want that. Surely you didn’t want to… I mean…”

 

Sam must see the stricken look growing in my eyes as I contemplate him possibly wanting to die, because his own expression softens and he drops his head, sighing. “No, of course I want to be alive. I am glad about that.”

 

“Well, then!” Dean huffs from beside me, gesturing angrily. “You want to be alive, you’re alive… why is this still a problem?”

 

“Seriously?” Sam snaps at his brother. I press my lips together, glancing down at my feet. I should stay out of it, this is their business. But Dean is so tense next to me. He hates fighting with Sam, more than anything.

 

“I just don’t get it, man,” Dean sighs wearily.

 

Sam shakes his shaggy head, stubborn. “You can’t just say ‘hey, things turned out OK this time’ and be done with it. What if Gadreel had hurt one of us? What then, Dean? What if your choice got someone in this family killed? Would that have been worth it to save me?”

 

I bristle defensively, because Sam is essentially asking Dean if he values his brother’s life more than mine or Kevin’s, which is an unfair and cruel question. Dean looks hurt and cornered, swallowing as he searches for an answer. I should let him handle this. I really should.

 

“Sam.” My voice comes out loud and sharp. Sam stares at Dean for a moment more before slowly meeting my eyes. I narrow my gaze at him. “This conversation isn’t going anywhere. You’re too angry, and Dean might be in the wrong in some ways but that doesn’t make punishing him any less pointless. Now, are you well? Does everything seem to be running smoothly with Hannah?”

 

Sam scowls at me but after a beat, he nods. I can feel Dean looking at me but I keep my eyes coldly trained on his younger brother, still bolstered by a surge of protectiveness. I don’t really care much whether Sam is right, which he probably is. No one hurts Dean while I stand and watch.

 

“Alright, then,” I say, straightening up from the dresser and reaching blindly for Dean’s hand. “We should go. I know that you’re a compassionate and reasonable man, Sam. Hopefully that will show itself at some point soon.”

 

I start to tug at Dean’s hand, turning away from Sam’s disbelieving, indignant expression. But Dean resists, lingering. I glance at him to see him staring at Sam with a pinched, unhappy set to his face. He inhales deeply and then slumps a little as he speaks lowly and sincerely:

 

“I am sorry.”

 

I don’t look at Sam to gauge his response to that. I wait for Dean to step after me of his own accord and then I hurry from the room, trailing him behind me. I become aware that we left our coffee mugs behind, still half full, but I immediately reject the idea of returning to collect them. Instead I lead Dean all the way back into our room before I falter and stop, heartbeat thrumming nervously. I speak to the floor, grip loose on Dean’s hand. “Sorry. I should stay out of conversations between you and Sam.”

 

Dean hesitates before replying on a tired sigh. “Yeah, you probably should.”

 

I tense up, but Dean sighs again and pulls me around and into his arms, digging his chin into my shoulder. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “Mostly because it’s way too easy for me to shut up and let you do the talking. Not like anything constructive comes out of my mouth. But yeah, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to have you sticking up for me all the time, especially with Sam. Shit, though, it’s nice to have you on my side, Cas.”

 

I snake my arms around his waist, feeling warm and indescribably fond of the man in my embrace. “Of course, Dean. I’m heavily biased but I’m willing to argue for your side any time. I’ll try to hold back with Sam though.”

 

“Yeah,” comes the amused reply, “maybe try that.”

 

There’s a short, soft silence before Dean noses lightly behind my ear and I shiver, ticklish. He huffs a laugh. “Your hair needs washing. Actually, you need washing in general. I probably need a shower too though, to be fair…”

 

I’m pulling back as he speaks and I meet his widening eyes as he trails off, clearly worried about something he’s said. “Not that I… I mean, I wasn’t saying… you know…”

 

I frown, hands resting on his waist as I try to decipher his rambling. “No, I don’t.”

 

Dean is pink now, rolling his eyes at my denial. “You know, showering together and stuff.”

 

I blink up at him, my interest quickening. “You want to shower together?”

 

“What?”

 

I’m confused now. “Isn’t that what you said?”

 

“No, I- well-” Dean looks extremely flustered. I feel my face fall.

 

“Oh. You don’t want to shower together.”

 

“Fuck’s sake, Cas!” he huffs. “I do, I mean I’d be fine with that, I just wasn’t suggesting it right then. OK?”

 

I consider that, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I see.”

 

He’s silent for a moment before sighing loudly. “What?”

 

I peer up at him nervously. “So you definitely don’t want to shower together… right now?”

 

He shuts his eyes in apparent disbelief. “Jesus, Cas, it’s too early for your version of communication skills. If you wanna friggin’ shower together, say so.”

 

I frown again but reply evenly. “I want to shower together.”

 

Dean opens his eyes very quickly. “Wait, really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh.” A pleased grin spreads across his face. “Awesome.”

 

I nod and Dean just stands there beaming for several seconds before he hurries into action, grabbing his towel and tugging me towards the door. He’s excited and enthusiastic and I trip after him, amused as we march to the bathroom. But once we’re in there and he’s closed the door behind us, Dean seems to falter. A flush rises on his cheeks when he glances into my eyes.

 

“Well,” he ventures awkwardly, dropping my hand to instead palm at the nape of his neck. “I guess we should… I mean, if we’re gonna…”

 

I realise that he’s trying to suggest that we undress. My own skin warms as I consider that to shower, all of our clothes will have to come off. Dean and I haven’t quite done that before. Not full nudity. It suddenly seems odd that we’ve touched each other intimately and brought each other pleasure, but have still never been naked together. I smirk at Dean’s sudden shyness, the way he’s avoiding my gaze and fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt. I might be human but I wasn’t raised in human society, so I have very little anxiety about nudity. Dean’s hesitance is sweet but seems silly to me. I let a long pause develop before I respond to him, amused by his flustered demeanour, and my smile shows in my voice.

 

“You first.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, obviously I was gonna work tattoo!kink in there. I'm not sorry. Enjoy :P

There’s a slight pause before Dean responds to my playful order. His eyes dart to mine, then away again. His blush deepens.

 

“Why me?” he mutters. I don’t reply and he swallows before slowly pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles in his arms and torso bunching and twisting at the movement. I let my gaze drift over him, appreciative.

 

I love how Dean looks. He’s strong, in every way, but there’s softness and sweetness in him too and all of this is reflected in his physicality. He has some strange attitudes towards his own body. He’ll exaggeratedly flex his arms and shoulders, cocky and confident, but he tenses up and mumbles protests when I touch or kiss the small gathering of fat curving across his belly. He rolls his eyes when I compliment his freckles, but nothing seems to relax him more than when I trace the patterns formed by them on his back. And he’s sensitive in unexpected areas. He seems almost indifferent to having his backside grabbed - unlike me - but he always responds noticeably when I wrap my hands around his angular hips, pushing into the firm touch. There’s a lot to learn about Dean’s body. I’m a more than willing student.

 

Dean clears his throat and I realise that I’ve been idly staring at his bare top half for several seconds. I look up and I’m pleased to see that he’s regained some confidence, raising his eyebrows at me with a smug quirk to his lips.

 

“Enjoying the view, Cas?” he asks airily.

 

“Very much.” My voice is a little husky when I respond and I can see the last of his nerves melting away under the heat of growing desire. Dean is usually like this when it comes to anything sexual: endearingly unsure until I make it clear that I want him, at which point he focuses and turns seductive. I watch as his pupils dilate and his stance eases into something like a swagger.

 

“Your turn then,” he drawls, teasing. I don’t waste time, pulling my plaid shirt off and then yanking my t shirt over my head. I toss them towards the laundry and then turn eagerly back to Dean, expecting him to be already moving towards me. Instead, I find him staring down at my ribs in wide-eyed shock, mouth slack and open. I’m puzzled for a nanosecond before I remember. The tattoo.

 

“Holy shit,” Dean whispers. I glance down at it too, hoping that I haven’t crossed some odd human boundary. Maybe tattoos are the sort of thing one is supposed to discuss before getting. Maybe Dean doesn’t actually like tattoos - since he only has his out of necessity - and is repulsed by mine. A dozen unpleasant and unlikely scenarios flash through my mind as I slowly look back up at Dean. His eyes rake over me and then return to the ink adorning my side. He licks his lips unconsciously, fingers twitching. I open my mouth to explain, feeling as nervous as Dean looked after suggesting we undress, ready to defend my decision as an indispensable safety measure-

 

Dean moves close and drops to a half-kneeling crouch, and my mouth snaps shut in surprise. He’s still staring at the tattoo. He reaches out and cups a hand around my waist, barely brushing his thumb across the script, leaning in to examine it. My stomach jumps at the light sensation, then jumps again as he exhales and his breath warms my skin. Slowly, he raises his gaze to meet mine.

 

“You got a tattoo. Like, a real one,” he states a little obviously, his voice quiet and unreadable. I swallow and nod.

 

“Yeah,” I say after a beat too long, my voice hitching slightly as Dean drags his thumb a little more firmly across my ribs. He observes me and then looks back down at the inked patch of skin.

 

“It’s fully healed. But I’m pretty fucking sure I would have noticed you having this before you left. Hannah did this?”

 

I wince at the tense undertone to his low voice and the almost forced calmness of the cursing, sure now that he’s angry for some reason. I take a deep breath and make my voice even to reply. “She healed it, but she didn’t do it. I went to a tattoo parlour. It’s warding, so I can’t be tracked by angels.”

 

Dean nods slowly, eyes drifting down to my hips and up to my chest and then inexorably back to the tattoo.

 

“Huh,” he says vaguely. I frown down at him, trying not to clench my fists when he lets go of my waist only to run the backs of his fingers softly over the inked warding, lips parted. I didn’t think that my ribs were that sensitive until he started paying all this attention to them.

 

“Dean,” I say firmly. He raises his eyes once more and fuck, he really does look amazing from this angle; I’m still not used to the automatic heat that spikes in my belly when I see him like this. I swallow raggedly and try again. “Dean, does it bother you? You seem… bothered.”

 

He grins then, a little feral. “You could say that. Yeah. Cas, have I ever told you that you’re really fucking sexy?”

 

I blink in surprise. “Oh. I don’t think you’ve used those exact words, no…”

 

Dean’s amused expression gentles a little and he nods almost seriously. “Well, you’re really fucking sexy. And so are tattoos. So you, plus some ink… yeah, I can cope with this.”

 

His gaze, dark and molten, has dropped back to my ribs before he’s finished speaking. I gulp. OK, so Dean is not angry and definitely not repulsed. That’s good. That’s-

 

“Oh,” I breathe as Dean holds my hips steady and leans forward to press a kiss to the warding, slow and soft. He lingers there, exhales warmth. I tilt my head back, eyes drifting shut. Another kiss follows, firmer this time. His lips part and he mouths hotly at the marked flesh, nails digging into my hips, something worshipful yet greedy in the touch. I squeeze at his shoulders, relaxing even as my breathing speeds up. Dean sucks a pleasant burning ache into my skin before dragging his tongue down to the indent of my hipbone, tugging at the edge of my jeans with his teeth.

 

“Mmm,” he hums there, giving the denim one last nip before pulling back. “Gotta get these off, man.”

 

I huff a laugh. “You’re closer.”

 

Dean’s eyes twinkle up at me as he considers this. “Touché.”

 

I bite my lip as I watch him unbutton and unzip my jeans, heart beating a little faster. He starts to pull them down but then stops and looks back up at me, oddly apologetic. “I, uh, wasn’t planning on sucking you off right now. Sorry. So if that’s what you’re aiming for-”

 

I roll my eyes and reach down to pull him to his feet, silencing his stuttering with my lips. When I lean back he’s watching me with a small smile, cheeks pink.

 

“I wasn’t aiming for anything,” I tell him softly. “And I’m… glad you like the tattoo. By the way.”

 

He smirks and winks before glancing back downwards, tracing the warding with a fingertip. I shiver.

 

“Yeah, I fucking like it,” he mutters. I smile a little smugly. He kisses me once more, slow this time, backing me gently against the counter with a hand on my neck and two fingers curled into one of my belt loops. I offer no resistance, coasting on the feel of Dean’s mouth, trailing my hands up and down his back. It’s a little while before he seems to remember what he was in the process of doing and I feel him pushing my jeans down my hips again. I help him, dragging my lips over his jaw and mouthing at his throat as I step distractedly out of the unwanted denim.

 

“Cas…” he sighs, pressing forward against me for an instant and then swaying back. He nudges down and re-captures my mouth a little lazily, fingertips now catching on the waistband of my boxer briefs as he tries half-heartedly to remove those too. I breathe a laugh into his mouth and do it myself, breaking away to quickly divest myself of the underwear and then moving back in. But Dean turns his head and avoids me, breath quickening against my shoulder. I frown.

 

“What?”

 

Dean doesn’t answer but after a moment I hear him take a deep breath and suddenly shuffle back, putting almost two feet of distance between us. I watch him, dismayed and a little impatient. What is it now? I want to be close to him. Has something upset him?

 

But Dean doesn’t look upset. He’s staring at me, just standing and staring. His gaze runs over me, ghosting across my skin. I think vaguely about what he’s seeing. I know I have a fairly aesthetically pleasing physical form, and I know that Dean approves wholeheartedly of the new tattoo. I’m semi-erect but that should come as no surprise to him, since it’s his attentions that caused it. I wait calmly for him to look his fill and after a short while, his eyes meet mine. He grins a little shyly.

 

“I’m a lucky guy,” he murmurs, warm sincerity in his gaze despite the faint teasing tone of his voice. I smile and, stepping forward, begin undoing his jeans. I hold his stare as I push them down and his cheeks are red by the time he steps out of his boxers, his breathing quick and his posture tense. I ignore this, because it’s my turn. I back off and examine him, feeling my whole body take interest as I drink in the sight of him bare before me. He’s so fucking beautiful. I reach out and run a finger down his stomach, stopping where the neatly trimmed pubic hair starts. His breath catches and I glance up at him, still smiling.

 

“I think we should shower,” I say softly. Dean nods emphatically and, taking a deep breath, turns and walks to the shower. Like everything else about him, Dean’s ass is gorgeous. I trail after him and press leisurely light kisses to his shoulder blades, pleased by his hitched breathing as he turns the taps on and waits for the water to run hot. The edge of the spray hits us where we wait to the side and I’m starting to feel the cold of the tiled room, so the little drops of cool water are unwelcome on my bare skin. I shiver and step close to Dean, looping my arms around his waist, resting my cheek on his shoulder. He makes a little noise in his throat and jumps when I come into full contact with him, my chest pressing loosely against his back, my mostly hard cock rubbing against the swell of his backside. I sigh with pleasure at the sensation and Dean exhales unsteadily.

 

“Jesus,” he mutters. I make a questioning sound but he doesn’t respond. The spray is hot now and he turns it on full, but hesitates before twisting in my arms to face me. I stare up at him as he tugs me gently under the shower, closing his eyes. I squint my own eyes against the onslaught of water, not wanting to stop watching him, but it’s uncomfortable so I give in quickly.

 

With my eyes closed and the sound of the shower thrumming away, it’s just sensation. The pressure of the water on my head and shoulders, the weight of my hair coating my forehead and flattening to my skull, the blissful heat permeating my skin and scalding my cold toes. But most importantly, Dean. He pulls me into his arms and I muffle a moan against his wet neck as our erections slide together, skin on skin. It’s not the first time, not quite. Two nights before I left, Dean pressed up against me in his bed and pulled both of our cocks free of our underwear, clumsy and rushed as he kissed me desperately. The feeling was new and strange and amazing then, as he rutted against me until the pre-ejaculate was enough to ease the way for a hand. Having Dean’s hand on both of us at once, his heat and hardness alongside my own, was a feeling as uncomfortable yet addictive as Dean’s uneven weight on me, his rough panting in my ear. I came quicker than ever before, with Dean following barely half a minute later.

 

Now, with warmth seeping into my muscles and the sleek shape of Dean steady against me, the contact feels luxurious and sensual rather than frantic and overwhelming. I taste the water on Dean’s skin and swivel my hips slowly, testing. Dean hisses and pushes back, hands splayed on my back and slipping downwards on the curve of my waist, gravity taking hold as he’s distracted by pleasure.

 

I grin, feeling euphoric and suddenly playful, and step back.

 

“What? No,” I hear Dean groan as I push the sodden, clumpy hair out of my face and wipe water from my eyes. I open them to find him rubbing his eyes too, mouth screwed up in a scowl. Water runs in rivulets down his firm torso to where his erection stands up stiffly and I eye it before shaking my head decisively.

 

“We’re here to wash, Dean,” I remind him, ignoring that I’m just as conspicuously aroused as him. He opens his eyes and glares at me.

 

“What?”

 

I reach out and grab the washcloth from the rack full of shower supplies, wringing it out. “Washing. Getting clean.”

 

Dean blinks and his jaw drops in disbelief.

 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get steamy in this chapter (that was a shower pun, hilarious I know) but also fluffy. There's a bit in here that I wrote totally by myself, but upon reading it back I am aware that it's similar to a scene from the amazing Ninety One Whiskey by Komodobits, which you NEED to read if you haven't already. Anyway, I acknowledge the similarity and I admit that I may have subconsciously been inspired as it IS one of my favourite bits in 91W, or indeed in any fic. But my scene came to me out of my own head and there was no intentional plagiarism whatsoever. I hope that's OK!

I lather up the washcloth in my hand with the plain bar of soap in the shower rack, placid and methodical under Dean’s indignant gaze.

 

“What the hell, Cas?” he says hoarsely. His gaze sweeps me up and down and he gestures at my body, imploring. “You can’t be this much of an asshole. Standing there all naked and wet and telling me we need to wash… come on, man!”

 

I suppress a laugh. “I need a shower, which means an actual shower with soap and shampoo, Dean. Don’t you?”

 

He folds his arms grumpily. “Need a fucking cold shower now. Don’t play stupid, you knew that showering together didn’t mean we’d come in here and scrub our backs and politely pass each other towels like football teammates or some shit.”

 

I raise my eyebrows, pausing in my attentions to the washcloth. “Are you saying that you were expecting… shower sex? I’ve heard you describe shower sex as ‘nightmarish’ and ‘a guaranteed disaster’.”

 

Dean watches me mutinously, arms still folded. “Yeah, well, it’s still sex. And it’s not like a handjob can go too badly wrong.”

 

I grimace. “I would hope not.”

 

I step forward and press the soapy washcloth to Dean’s bicep on the side away from the shower spray, working it in firm, slow circles down his arm. He jerks in surprise, dropping his hands to his sides and peering down at my ministrations. “What are you doing?”

 

“Washing you,” I reply contentedly. I can feel Dean looking at me but I keep my eyes on his skin. As I reach his elbow and gently swipe at the soft inner curve, he gives a little huff and turns his arm outwards for me. I smile, rubbing all the way down his forearm. I move back up to his shoulder and run the folded washcloth along the line of his clavicle, noting the slight shiver in response.

 

Dean watches me silently as I wipe up and over his shoulder but I escape his scrutiny as I move behind him to wash his back. He stands very still. I feel wonderfully calmed by this, by scrubbing him clean. It feels good to be caring for him, but it’s more than that. It feels incredible that he’s letting me. Dean is prone to scoffing and rolling his eyes when I express concern for him, so used to putting himself last that he automatically rejects my attempts to look after him. But not now. I apply more soap to the washcloth and rub it in steady circles all the way down to his lower back, resting my other hand on his waist and stroking my thumb against his skin in time with my work. I press a kiss to the nape of his neck and gently pull him around to face me, meaning to wash his other arm and then his chest.

 

He’s crying.

 

Not fully crying, not sobbing, but I can see that the wetness in his eyes and on his lashes is not just from the shower. He avoids my gaze and bites down on his lip, cheeks flushed, breathing a little fast and unsteady through his nose.

 

“Dean,” I whisper, shocked. I’ve very rarely seen Dean come anywhere close to crying. I step closer and cup his face with my free hand, ducking my head to catch his eyes. He raises them reluctantly and then immediately shuts them when he meets my gaze, shaking his head a little.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters. I frown.

 

“What for? What is it?”

 

He sighs, lips trembling before he presses them tightly together and swallows. I caress his cheekbone, my worry mounting. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

 

His eyes flash open. “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong, Cas, you just- I wasn’t expecting-”

 

He struggles for words and then sighs again, sounding defeated. He gathers me up in a hug and I wind my arms around his neck, bewildered as I stare at the shower wall. When he speaks I can barely understand him, muffled as he is by talking into my shoulder.

 

“I’m just not used to that. You took me by surprise because I’m not used to being treated like… I dunno, just how you were touching me and being all…”

 

He trails off and I nod slowly in understanding, feeling a pressure in my own throat. Dean isn’t used to being treated with this kind of love. He isn’t used to being taken care of and he certainly isn’t used to being doted on, like he’s something precious. But he is.

 

“I love you,” I remind him quietly. His arms tighten around me. “How I treat you is going to reflect that. I hope that’s alright.”

 

He gives a muffled laugh that sounds like he’s close to tears again, so I’m not surprised that he stays holding me for almost a minute under the hot shower, face buried in my skin. Finally, he takes a deep breath and pulls back, peering at me uncertainly.

 

“My turn?” he asks, tugging my arm down from around his neck and plucking the washcloth from my grip. I tilt my head.

 

“I wasn’t finished.”

 

He shakes his head. “I’m clean enough. You can wash my hair though?”

 

“Well, alright.”

 

He grins and lathers up the washcloth. I watch him affectionately as he carefully scrubs at my chest, working a little quicker than I did. He swipes up over my shoulders and down my arms, picking up my hands and diligently cleaning between each finger. Then he returns to my chest. As the washcloth brushes across my nipples, he leans in and kisses my neck, drawing a startled murmur from me. I hear the smack as the washcloth hits the tiled floor and then it’s just Dean’s hand smoothing downwards over my stomach-

 

“Shampoo,” I remind him hoarsely, yanking back out of the water and out of reach, pushing my hair out of my narrowed, squinting eyes. He narrows his own eyes back at me, lips pursing. But he does turn and grab the shampoo, the basic one that he and I use as opposed to the expensive ‘maximum volume and shine’ one that Sam buys. Passing it to me, he crosses his arms once more and bows his head in readiness, mumbling under his breath. I smile in amusement and squirt some shampoo into my palm, lathering it in both hands before excitedly stepping up to Dean and beginning to massage his scalp. He hums, shoulders relaxing as I drag my fingers through his short hair, turning it to a mess of foam. It doesn’t take long and then I’m guiding him under the shower spray, watching the white fluff wash away, distracted by the sight of the suds sliding down Dean’s abdomen, catching in the wet patch of hair at his groin, dissolving into nothing on his strong thighs.

 

I’m clean enough too, I decide suddenly. Shower sex is probably fine, really. It’s certainly worth a try. I squeeze and rub the last of the shampoo from Dean’s hair and then slide my hands down to cup his neck, moving in to kiss him and press against him-

 

But Dean chuckles against my lips and pushes me gently away, holding me in place, voice chiding when he speaks: “No, no, no. I get to do the shampooing now.”

 

His eyes gleam covetously when he looks at my wet, slicked back hair and I sigh resignedly, knowing that I should have expected this. Dean has admitted and repeatedly demonstrated a fixation on my hair. He loves to touch it and pull it and kiss it and bury his nose in it; of course he wants to wash it, too. I slump and bow my head submissively, listening to Dean opening the shampoo and rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. I have to admit that it feels fantastic when he starts to work the foamy substance into my hair, winding his fingers in and tugging softly, massaging my scalp and rubbing behind my ears. I sigh happily and I’m not aware of leaning forward until my forehead hits Dean’s shoulder. He huffs a laugh and combs his fingers upwards from my neck, pulling repeatedly at the roots, scratching his nails lightly against the sides of my head. It’s oddly soporific.

 

“OK,” he murmurs eventually, removing his hands from my hair and pushing me gently away. “Rinse it out.”

 

I smile and close my eyes as I step back and tip back my head in the water, reveling in the warm pulsing sensation on my sensitised scalp. I reach up with both hands and run my fingers back from my hairline, getting the last of the shampoo out.

 

“Fuck’s sake,” I hear Dean say almost exasperatedly. I barely open my eyes before he’s upon me, kissing me insistently, backing me into the shower wall. I make an approving noise and then something more like a startled grunt as he reaches down and grabs the backs of my thighs, hefting me up with my knees on either side of him. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and drag in lungfuls of steam as he kisses down my neck, dropping my head back with a thud. The tiles are cool on my back as I press into them, contrasting with the wall of heat that is Dean at my front. He rocks his hips forward and I’m not sure when I got hard again, but it’s definitely happened. I can feel that Dean is too. He’s slick and hot against me and I arch into the sensation, moaning. I squeeze his waist with my thighs and press my heels into his buttocks, urging him closer.

 

“Cas,” he breathes against my pulse point, mouth open. He thrusts against me, again and again, the pace getting faster. The pleasure is desperate and all-consuming but out of reach somehow, too vague and unfocused. Rubbing and slipping against each other is not enough, I’m realising. I adjust my grip on Dean, wrapping one arm around his neck and shoving the other hand down between us. I fumble a little but then get my fingers curled around Dean’s cock, trapping it against mine with the heel of my palm, squeezing lightly. The feeling shudders through me and I chase it, moving my hand up and down experimentally.

 

“Cas,” Dean groans louder, tipping his head back. I watch him through half-lidded eyes, my chest heaving against his. We start to work out a rhythm but it’s not very comfortable; I find myself wincing and tensing, shifting to try to make it better, frowning. Dean meets my eyes and bites his lip, stilling against me.

 

“Use the soap,” he murmurs, jerking his head towards the shower rack. I lean sideways, precarious in his grip, and lather my hand up generously. It’s far better when I resume my attentions between us.

 

“Uh- Dean-”

 

He whimpers into my neck and I cling onto him with both legs and one arm, breath coming in throaty gasps as he thrusts into my hand and presses me into the wall. The tiles are sliding against me from backside to shoulders, up and down in time with the way Dean is moving. I want to be able to do something about what’s happening, have some level of control, but instead I stay pliant in Dean’s arms and focus on the steadily building pleasure as I stroke myself alongside him. It helps that he’s groaning out words in my ear, breath as hot as the water still catching one side of my body.

 

“Cas,” he slurs, nosing at my wet hair, “fuck, Cas… yes…”

 

I huff out an agreement, rising on a crest of sensation, eyes fluttering closed as I push my head back against the tiles. It’s perhaps not my ideal sexual scenario but it still feels fucking amazing. Dean is everywhere, clasped between my legs and echoing in my ears and throbbing hard against my cock, skin on sensitive skin. I have no idea why we always kept clothes on until now. Being naked with Dean feels blissfully right. He moans, fingers digging bruises into the thick flesh of my thighs; it feels good in a way that I’m sure it normally wouldn’t.

 

“Dean-”

 

He moans again in response to my low cry and bursts out with a garbled string of speech, sounding delirious: “Uh, Cas, Cas, yes, wanna- wanna fuck you so bad- wanna- oh, fuck-!”

 

I blink but then Dean bites down on my neck as he comes and my thoughts stutter. I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering at the thick heat coating my aching hand and trickling down my cock. It pushes me into my own climax and I roll my hips desperately through my orgasm, uncaring that Dean almost drops me with all the movement. My voice echoes in the bathroom, an incoherent babble mostly consisting of Dean’s name.

 

Dean gives me about ten seconds of panting, slack-limbed post-orgasmic haze before he drops me with a grunt, grabbing my elbows to stop me from sliding to the floor. I swear in surprise and catch his eye with an annoyed expression, despite still feeling encased in a layer of dreamy contentment.

 

“Sorry,” he rasps, blinking slowly at me. “You’re really fuckin’ heavy, dude.”

 

I mumble wordlessly and lean into him, pressing a sleepy kiss to his neck. He hums and drapes his arms around me and we stand like that for a minute or so, enjoying the drumming heat of the water on our skin.

 

Until it starts to turn cool. I stir in Dean’s hold, raising my head with a frown as the water begins to lose its heat. Dean grumbles and pulls us both fully under, grabbing the washcloth again and swiping the mess from our stomachs and hands. In the seconds it takes for him to do that, the shower turns lukewarm. Dean shuts it off and we both stand there for a moment, dripping in the sudden silence. Dean sighs and stretches as I push my hair off of my forehead.

 

“I know it’s kinda caveman of me to want food right after sex, but…”

 

I chuckle. “Well, neither of us had breakfast. So… lunch?”

 

Dean grins widely at me. “Hell yeah.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GLOB I am so sorry for the delay in posting. It's been a busy time and I've had major writer's block with this fic; I guess I didn't want to end up with all my chapters posted and nothing new written, but it hasn't really made a difference as you guys have had to wait forever either way. I think I'm only a few chapters from the end now, just need to get them written! I refuse to abandon this fic.   
> Stand by for a surprise guest at the end of this chapter!

Getting out of the bathroom is a challenge. Dean only brought one towel with us, which he uses to towel my hair with apparent glee. Giving himself a perfunctory wipe-down with the damp material, he pauses and looks around the room, which has no convenient dressing gowns or extra towels in sight.

 

“Huh. Probably should have thought of this.”

 

After half a minute of shivering discussion, Dean shoves the towel at me and instructs me to go grab his dressing gown from the bedroom. I wrap the material around my hips, smirking a little under Dean’s admiring gaze as he leans back against the vanity counter to watch me.

 

“Hurry up, yeah?” is all he says as I go to leave. “Freezing my ass off here.”

 

I roll my eyes but I do walk briskly down the hall to Dean’s room, taking the robe from behind the door and then making my way just as promptly back to the bathroom.

 

Only to find Kevin with his hand on the doorknob, about to open it.

 

“Wait!” I cry out, springing forward-

 

It’s too late. The door swings open and I cringe as I hear Dean’s startled yelp, followed very quickly by his furious swearing.

 

“Kevin, shit, close the fucking door, man!”

 

Kevin yanks the door shut again, eyes round and mouth open. When he turns to look at me, though, he breaks into a wide grin.

 

“Oh, wow,” he says, shaking his head slowly, mirth bubbling in his voice. I scowl at him, crossing my arms and effectively hugging Dean’s robe to my bare chest.

 

“Kevin.”

 

“So not only are you guys clichéd enough for shower sex,” he cuts across me loudly, “you’re not even subtle about it. I mean, naked Dean waiting for you in the bathroom’s a pretty telling clue. No mistaking that one-”

 

“Go back to your room, Kevin,” I sigh, stepping past him. I pause, though, not yet opening the door. Kevin is still standing behind me and snickering to himself. I turn and narrow my eyes at him. “Now.”

 

He arranges his face into a solemn, reproachful look. “I’m young and innocent, Castiel. Seeing this kind of depravity could seriously harm my mental wellbeing, I don’t know how you can live with yourself knowing-”

 

“Fuck off already, Kevin,” Dean calls out from within the bathroom. I nod emphatically.

 

“What Dean said,” I tell the prophet sternly. He shakes his head mournfully but turns and makes his way down the hall, chortling to himself. I wait for him to turn the corner at the end before I open the bathroom door and slip through, finding Dean standing tensely against the opposite wall with both hands cupped around his genitals. I pass him the robe in silence and he puts it on immediately, belting it securely.

 

“It was actually nice to see Kevin smiling so much,” I venture as he double ties the knot. He gives me a flat, unamused look.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles. “Just don’t want the little asswipe to use this against me for all of eternity.”

 

“Prophets aren’t immortal,” I shrug, “and neither are you, so that won’t happen.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, great, thanks. Anyway, let’s put that whole horrifying scene behind us, OK? Go put something on and I’ll grab us some food. I want a slice of pie, like even more than usual.”

 

I trail after him as he exits the bathroom, looking both ways with narrowed eyes before he steps out into the hallway.

 

“You bought pie?”

 

He grins over his shoulder at me, heading off towards the kitchen as I halt by the bedroom door. “Sammy bought it for me. ‘Cause of the fake break up. He’s a good kid.”

 

I smile as I head into our room and pull on boxers and the old Metallica shirt, which has finally been washed. I do feel a little guilty that Sam was made to worry and fret about his brother because of the falsehood that we created, but it’s heartwarming that Sam tries to look after Dean when he’s in need of it. So much of Dean is given to looking after Sam; I don’t think he realises that the love and support go both ways.

 

But he’s right. Sam is good, inherently so. He cares about Dean in a way that I can’t fully appreciate and I should try to remember that. I overreacted when I leapt to Dean’s defence in Sam’s room. Dean doesn’t need any defence when it comes to his younger brother. Sam is no threat to him.

 

Dean ducks in and interrupts my musing, carrying two plates with generous slices of pie. He’s already eaten a third of his. It’s pumpkin pie, which I haven’t tried before. I take my slice and settle cross-legged on the bed, slicing off a neat forkful.

 

“I’s no’ Tha’sgivin’ for ‘nother two weeks,” Dean garbles through a mouthful, “bu’ it tastes good any ti’ o’year.”

 

I nod in agreement as I chew, amused. The pie is delicious, it’s true. It’s been heated up a little in the microwave, but something about the flavour tastes warm anyway. Dean leans comfortably back against the headboard of the bed, ankles crossed in front of him, eyes closed as he savours his ‘lunch’. I think briefly that this is not a healthy meal, but then dismiss the concern. I’ll put more effort into dinner. I’m still feeling fairly low on energy from the spell last night. Not to mention shower sex, which is every bit as physically challenging and precarious as Dean has complained in the past.

 

It was good though. Very good. I drag my fork against my lips, staring vaguely at Dean, who is still engrossed in the pie. It was so satisfying to be skin to skin with him. Maybe we should start sleeping naked. It’s not even necessarily a sexual thing. Although as a sexual thing, it definitely works for me. I chew through another mouthful of pie, the pleasant flavour a backdrop to my vivid memories of the shower with Dean. I run through those memories lazily: the slide of bare flesh under hot water and soap, the look in his eyes when I washed him clean, his breath on my throat blending with the steam in the air. Wet fingers caressing me, the way he moved between my thighs, the things he groaned in my ear when he came-

 

I drop my fork in surprise, the odd squeaking sound in my throat being drowned out by the resulting clatter. Dean jumps, eyes flying open, mouth full of the last of his pie. He makes an indignant questioning noise at me, chewing fast.

 

“Sorry,” I breathe, flushing hotly. “I just- I forgot until now- you-”

 

He gulps down the pie with some difficulty. “What? What is it?”

 

I falter. This is probably something I should have just kept quiet about and considered in my own time, but it’s a little late now. “Uh. In the shower. You said…”

 

Dean frowns at me, clearly nonplussed as I trail off. He might not remember that he said he wanted to fuck me. But that is exactly what he said.

 

Which isn’t surprising as a general statement, if he was just referring to sex in any form. Sex with Dean is good - the best thing I can think of, really, except maybe falling asleep curled up around him - and he obviously enjoys it just as much as I do. But we were already having sex at the time and Dean’s words, the longing and frustration behind them… it was like he was wishing for something more. Which has an obvious implication; I’m not experienced with the intricacies of human colloquialisms, but even I know that the most literal form of ‘fuck’ is penetrative sex. The ‘home run’. Which Dean and I haven’t done yet. So, clearly, it’s something he does want to do. Again, this is not particularly surprising; it’s crossed my mind too, as something that I want to try.

 

I just never pictured Dean fucking me, rather than the other way around.

 

It makes sense, though. Dean seems to have a deep-seated need to be in control during sex with me, although it clearly doesn’t come naturally to him. It’s a little frustrating. When he’s at his most relaxed he lets me take over and it’s effortless, but at a certain point he visibly starts to tense up, as though he feels vulnerable or over-exposed. I don’t at all mind letting Dean be the one to hold me down, make decisions, tell me what to do. When he does it with confidence it’s very attractive and he is, after all, far more experienced than I am. But often he seems to be pushing himself to be in charge, when it’s obvious that he gains a lot of pleasure from relinquishing control… if he’s feeling secure or desperate enough to allow it. I like being in control too; it’s somehow soothing to take command, and Dean is so beautiful when he gives himself over to me. When I consider pushing our sexual relationship to a more intimate level, I automatically imagine myself inside Dean, watching him fall apart. Taking care of him.

 

But of course that’s not what Dean imagines. Letting me in, in the most literal and physical sense, would be a huge challenge for him. Probably too much of a challenge at this point. The fact that I’m almost certain it’s what he would gain the most sexual and emotional satisfaction from is irrelevant; he probably wouldn’t even entertain it as a possibility. I sigh, accepting that we’ll have to explore this on Dean’s terms. If he needs to have control, I’ll give it to him. I might like it, anyway.

 

“Cas??” Dean says loudly, waving his fork near my face where I’ve been blankly staring at his shin. I stir, blushing again. He’s raising his eyebrows expectantly, mouth twisted in worry.

 

“Sorry, it’s nothing alarming,” I assure him, putting my plate and fork down and rubbing my palms nervously on my knees. “I just, um. I remembered that you said something while you were ejaculating.”

 

Dean slumps back against the headboard, cheeks pinkening but shoulders relaxing. He rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah, Cas, I tend to do that.”

 

“I know. This was just something that caught my attention.”

 

He frowns at me but suddenly, his eyes widen in something like horror. I smile slightly. He’s remembered, then.

 

“Oh, shit, that,” he breathes. “Cas, you don’t need to- I wasn’t tryna make any demands or whatever- I was just-”

 

“It’s OK,” I interrupt lightly, still smiling. “I was just going to say that if that’s something you want… well, we can do that. I mean, we can try it. Whenever you want to.”

 

That seems to stump him. He blinks at me, mouth open. “Oh.”

 

I nod slowly. Dean blinks again and, just as slowly, nods back. He drops his gaze to the plate in his hands and fiddles a little with it, face growing steadily redder. I wait patiently in silence. After half a minute, he looks back up.

 

“Thanks,” he says huskily. “For, uh… I dunno. Being you.”

 

It’s my turn to flush and glance away, embarrassed and pleased. “That’s alright.”

 

Dean huffs a soft laugh and I peek at him from beneath my lashes, the corners of my mouth tugging inexorably upwards. We grin stupidly at each other.

 

There’s a sharp knock on the door. “Guys!”

 

It’s Sam. Dean frowns, laying down his plate on the bedside table. “Come in.”

 

The door opens to reveal a scowling Sam. For a moment I’m worried that he’s still angry with Dean, but he strides into the room with Kevin in tow and it’s clear that he’s concerned about something else.

 

“We have a problem,” Sam says flatly. Kevin nods in silent agreement, hunched and defensive with his hands in his pockets. Dean scrambles off of the bed and I do the same, tensed for yet another stumbling block that I won’t be able to properly address without my grace. Is it Hannah? Is she alright? Or are we being attacked somehow? Is Gadreel back? Or worse, Metatron-

 

“What is it?” questions Dean gruffly, urgently. Sam grimaces.

 

“Something to distract you from your domestic bliss, Squirrel,” comes a smooth, familiar voice from the doorway. We all turn as one to see a short, impeccably dressed man step casually through the door into Dean’s bedroom. He smirks around at us all, his gaze lingering on me with particular amusement and derision.

 

Crowley.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES! This fic is finally up to the same point I left it at on ff.net! Took me way longer than it should have, but we are at last at this point :D Thank you so much to the faithful readers who came over with me and have been patiently waiting for me to catch up with myself.   
> This chapter is kinda plot heavy and ends with some dramaaaa! Also, there is always background implied past Drowley when Crowley pops up in my work because that shit is canon.   
> So the next chapter I post will be entirely new material! Exciting!   
> PS: I really liked 'Wayward Daughters' although it didn't blow me away. I am already so on board with Claia though. Dem Destiel parallels <3

“What the hell is he doing in the bunker? In my room?!” Dean asks Sam loudly, turning on him. Sam twists his mouth apologetically.

 

“He was supposed to wait in the library while I came and got you. You wanna try getting Crowley to follow instructions, Dean?”

 

“Oh, under the right circumstances, I think that could be quite fun,” purrs the demon, eyes twinkling. My hands twitch into fists and then relax again. Crowley is irritating, but mostly just talk. It’s pointless to engage with his needling.

 

“What is this ‘problem’?” I ask him coolly. He appraises me.

 

“Almost didn’t recognise you without all the feathers and bluster. I can see you’ve still got your winning smile and charm, though-”

 

“Get on with it,” snaps Dean. He continues almost instantly, shaking his head. “Actually, no, not here. And not in my damn dressing gown. You guys go wait in the library like this guy was meant to. We’ll be there in a minute.”

 

Sam nods and he and Kevin move towards the door, but Crowley is standing still and focused, sharp gaze moving between Dean and me. He huffs a small, cruel laugh. “So it’s finally happened then? Cassie wasn’t in here for algebra tutoring, I take it?”

 

Dean flushes and sets his jaw, staring off to the side instead of meeting the demon’s eyes. I step protectively between the two, glaring at Crowley. “Go.”

 

Crowley rolls his eyes and slinks off up the hallway; Sam mumbles a ‘sorry’ and follows Kevin out too. The door closes and I exhale slowly, waiting a beat before turning to Dean. He hasn’t moved to start getting dressed and is gazing unseeing at the same spot by the door. My stomach sinks. This is about Crowley knowing.

 

“Dean?”

 

He startles and blinks at me. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll- I’ll put some clothes on.”

 

He hesitates before shucking off his robe and moving over to his dresser. I feel a flicker of petulance that I don’t get to appreciate admiring him naked because things couldn’t not go wrong for a single fucking day, but there are more important issues to consider.

 

“Dean, don’t… don’t let Crowley anger you. He’s… uh, an asshole.”

 

My awkward use of the very Dean-like phrase tugs a smile onto his face as he zips up his jeans. “Truer words, Cas, truer words.”

 

I watch him worriedly. “If you’re embarrassed or- or ashamed-”

 

Dean pauses in straightening the hem of his Henley, alarmed gaze darting up to mine. “What? No! Cas, don’t be stupid. I’m not ashamed of you. I just… don’t trust Crowley. He could use this against us. And he won’t keep his mouth shut either. It’s gonna be common knowledge soon enough that we’re… you know, whatever we are. Then what? It’s a weakness, it makes you vulnerable. Even more vulnerable.”

 

I shrug. “I consider you well worth it.”

 

Dean scoffs as he tosses me my jeans without looking at me, hunting for some socks with an odd intensity. “Yeah, well…”

 

He clearly isn’t planning on actually responding, so I fall silent as I drag the jeans on. I don’t bother with putting on a new shirt, simply layering the ratty Metallica one with my red and black plaid. I leave my feet bare and distractedly ruffle my still-damp hair, trying to finger-comb it into neatness. I give up fast. Dean is watching me from by the door when I turn to him, eyes fond and lips upturned.

 

“What?” I ask self-consciously. He shrugs.

 

“You just look so different human. I keep seeing you all over again.”

 

I tilt my head questioningly. “Good different?”

 

He shrugs again, smiling, before turning and opening the door. “Come on, sunshine. Let’s go see what our charming guest wants.”

 

I wrinkle my nose but follow him to the library, where Sam is frowning at a pile of books on the table and Crowley is smirking at a tense-looking Kevin. Upon our entrance, the demon turns and focuses on us, spreading his hands.

 

“Ah, the happy couple. Glad you could spare a few minutes outside the bedroom. Of course, I’d be very interested in a few minutes or more inside the bedroom too-”

 

“Get on with it, Crowley,” Sam interrupts loudly, eyes closed. Crowley rolls his eyes but acquiesces.

 

“Fine. I came here because a situation is brewing that deserves your attention. It involves a certain Knight of Hell who I believe you are familiar with.”

 

My stomach twists in dread, the emotion echoed in Dean’s voice: “Abaddon.”

 

“Bingo,” Crowley replies softly. “That psychotic bitch has decided that she wants to rule the world and all its subheadings. Hell is just the beginning for her. She wants Earth, Heaven, Purgatory… you name it, it’s prime real estate as far as she’s concerned. And killing anyone who gets in her way seems to be the part of the job that she’s taken to with the most enthusiasm.”

 

“Damn it,” I breathe. As if Metatron isn’t enough.

 

“Precisely,” says Crowley lazily. Sam and Dean glance at each other, communicating in that silent way of theirs, a language of micro-expressions. Sam looks back at Crowley.

 

“What do you want us to do?”

 

The demon tilts his head, considering. “I want you to help me, Moose. I want us to put Abaddon down, permanently.”

 

I frown. “How?”

 

Crowley sighs. “Well, it won’t be a stroll in the park. I’ve been looking into options.”

 

Dean crosses his arms, face unhappy. “Your ‘options’ generally suck ass, Crowley.”

 

“Yes, well, much as I’d love to hear all about your experiences su-”

 

“What are these options?” I cut in impatiently. I never cared for Crowley’s barely-disguised fixation on Dean and I care for it even less now. The demon tears his eyes away from Dean with clear reluctance to sneer at me.

 

“Before we get into all that, I think a certain issue needs to be addressed. I assume you’re working on getting your grace back?”

 

I blink, taken aback. My voice is smaller when I reply, wary. “Metatron has my grace.”

 

Crowley frowns. “Well, kill the little bastard and retrieve it.”

 

I scowl at him. “If it’s so easy to destroy Metatron, please, feel free to do so yourself.”

 

“What, so you’re not even going to try?” Crowley says in disbelief. I shift uncomfortably. He looks around the room, predictably landing on Dean.

 

“What do you have to say about this?” the demon demands. Dean’s arms are still crossed, tension in his shoulders and clenched fists. He’s staring down at the floor, a blank look in his eyes. I eye him, worried and a little confused. What exactly is upsetting him so much about this conversation? Is it the prospect of going after Metatron?

 

“Hello? Earth to Dean?”

 

Dean stirs, but doesn’t look up. He mutters: “It’s up to Cas.”

 

I shift towards him a little, anxious at his demeanour, but Crowley is talking to me again and I turn to him with a frown.

 

“... not even bothered by the fact that you’re powerless? We had an angel on our side, and now you’re useless!”

 

I wince, but Dean snaps out of whatever was plaguing him and steps forward, uncrossing his arms and pointing at Crowley with a glare. “Hey, Cas is not useless. OK?”

 

I straighten up a little, love and pride easing the sting of Crowley’s words. Sam chimes in too, voice firm. “No, he’s not. And we still have an angel on our side. Hannah wants to speak.”

 

“What?” Crowley asks, perplexed. Sam tilts his head back and closes his eyes; when he opens them again, a faint glow of grace flares there before a calm expression settles over his face. He looks at me.

 

“Hello, Castiel,” says Hannah through Sam’s voice.

 

“What?!” repeats Crowley, a little louder. Hannah turns to him with a disapproving look.

 

“You seem misinformed, demon. Castiel is far from useless, and as Sam stated, these men still have allies from Heaven. Chiefly, me. I am Hannah.”

 

Crowley blinks at her and then turns to Dean and me, almost shouting: “What the bloody hell is going on?”

 

Dean sighs. “Sam needs healing. Hannah’s helping out. Cas found her.”

 

Dean shoots me a grateful look and I smile briefly at him before turning to Hannah. “Hannah, meet Crowley. King of Hell. Crowley, meet Hannah, an angel and a friend.”

 

Crowley eyes the angel wearing Sam’s body with a sort of disgusted fascination. “So you’re riding the Moose into battle?”

 

Hannah blinks, clearly confused. She looks at me. I shake my head.

 

“Hopefully, Hannah will have finished healing Sam and vacated his body before any sort of battle takes place.”

 

The demon snaps his attention back to me, all business once more. “If a battle is to take place against Abaddon, we all need to be operating at full capacity. You can’t do that without your grace. So my point still stands. Get it back.”

 

Hannah steps forward unexpectedly, eyes grave. “I agree.”

 

“What?” I say, backing up a step, feeling rather hemmed in. “Hannah-”

 

“You are the most human angel I have ever met.” She pauses. “But you still belong with your grace, and it with you. We of Heaven need you. To defeat Metatron, to defend Heaven and Earth from this Abaddon… and to lead us. To show us the way forward.”

 

I very deliberately don’t look at Dean, feeling oddly embarrassed by all of this. Hannah is borderline delusional in her assertion that I am the leader Heaven needs. “Look-”

 

“You know that you need your grace back, Castiel. I can see your soul. I know how you ache to be yourself once more.” Her voice is final. I swallow. I can’t really deny that I miss my grace, that I resent the limatations of being human, that I feel displaced and lost. Or at least I would, if not for Dean. Dean is what makes my fall from grace seem more than worth the pain. But getting my grace back wouldn’t have to mean losing him, would it? If I could somehow balance both…

 

But what if Dean doesn’t want me as an angel? What if I had it wrong when I was afraid that Dean preferred me with my powers? Maybe it’s only as a human that he feels able to act upon his feelings for me.

 

“Well, then,” Crowley drawls. I tear my eyes from Hannah’s steady gaze and focus on him. “That’s settled. I’ll monitor the Abaddon situation. You lot work on restoring Castiel to his dubious former glory. Give me a call when you’ve done that and we’ll talk about my… options.”

 

His gaze flickers to Dean before he vanishes, the movement so quick that I almost don’t see it. It makes my stomach curl in fear. What is Crowley planning?

 

“Well,” says Sam weakly, sitting down and rubbing his forehead. “That felt weird as hell.”

 

Kevin is leaning against a bookcase, arms folded, eyes troubled. He’s looking at me.

 

“You’re really getting your grace back?” he asks me quietly. I shrug, unsure. I don’t want to risk my relationship with Dean, but Crowley and Hannah are right. If I want to really help, I need my grace.

 

“It seems like the sensible thing to do.”

 

I hear a snort come from behind me and I turn to see Dean glaring harshly at me. “Sensible? Going after Metatron is not sensible.”

 

I frown. “Dean, we were going to go after him anyway. We don’t know what he and Gadreel are planning. They could even collude with Abaddon-”

 

“Yeah, right,” sneers Dean, inexplicably furious, fists curled. I’m bewildered by his anger. “Because a couple of angels are really gonna team up with a Knight of Hell.”

 

“Why not?” I snap, instinctively defensive against his aggression. “I’ve teamed up with Crowley and it looks like it’s happening again, so-”

 

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out!”

 

“Dean…” Sam interjects, wary. Dean ignores him.

 

“Besides, I dunno if you keep forgetting, but you’re not an angel any more, Cas.”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to fix!” I say loudly and sharply. Dean flinches and I swallow, unsure what I’ve said that’s hurt him. There’s a pause and when Dean speaks his voice is low and tight, vibrating with bitterness, as cold as his acidic eyes.

 

“Sorry you feel like you’re broken. I guess I didn’t realise how fucking unhappy you were. Guess you won’t have to stick around and worry about that for much longer, huh?”

 

I stand with my mouth open but no sound coming out, confused and panicked. Dean glowers at me, fists tight and trembling at his sides. There’s some sort of challenge in his eyes, but I don’t understand what it is or where the problem truly lies in the first place. I step forward and attempt to respond, several seconds too late, my voice weak and faint.

 

“Dean... I …”

 

Dean turns and walks out of the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE FINALLY MADE IT! All new material! The story is finally picking up where it left off on ff.net! Thank you SO MUCH for your patience and for the love you've given this fic. I've battled recurring writer's block with this story but I'm confident that I'll finish it sooner or later, and I hope you're still with me at the end.   
> I think this is a nice new chapter to give you :)  
> How good was Sister Jo/Annael? I thought the rest of the ep was average buckleming (it sucked) but Danneel knocked her role out of the park! Love her and very intrigued to see where the character goes.  
> I saw 'Black Panther' tonight and it was FUCKING AWESOME 10/10 YAAAASSSSSSSSSS <3

Sam sighs heavily.

 

“Damn it, Dean,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. I turn towards him.

 

“What the hell…?” I manage to croak, feeling very much like I’ve missed a major detail somewhere. “I don’t… I don’t understand your brother sometimes.”

 

“Me neither,” Sam grimaces. His eyes flicker shut and he barks a laugh. “Hannah says that humans are a mess. I’m pretty inclined to agree.”

 

“Oh, come on,” says Kevin from behind me. I whirl around and look at him. He rolls his eyes, pushing off from the bookcase and walking towards me. “Dean is totally a mess, but he’s not that hard to figure out.”

 

I exchange a glance with Sam. “He really is, Kevin.”

 

The prophet folds his arms, looking sceptical. “He’s obviously upset because he thinks you’re going to leave once you get your grace back.”

 

I blink, still confused, but Sam is nodding slowly. “Actually, that makes sense.”

 

“Me? Leave?” I repeat, a deep frown on my face. Sam gives me an apologetic look.

 

“You do leave a lot, Cas. In fact, having you here as a human is the first time you’ve really stayed. Something always pulled you away when you were an angel.”

 

I think about it and… he’s right. When I still felt linked to Heaven, part of me always wanted to go back. Part of me always rejected the need to stay. But I did always feel that need to stay; it’s not like I ever wished to be apart from Dean. I just didn’t think that he wanted or needed me by his side, and I always had unfinished business with my fellow angels. But it wasn’t just that.

 

It was guilt and fear, I realise. I knew that I had chosen Dean, that I would always choose Dean, that I would betray my kin over and over for him if necessary. And I hated that. I hated that everything they said about me being a traitor, about me being lost to humanity - lost to Dean - was true. I fell from Heaven long before I had my grace cut out, and it was for him. I resented it, I wanted to prove otherwise, and I thought that Dean didn’t want me anyway so I kept running back to Heaven. Running from him, running from the strength of my frightening and confusing emotions. I didn’t want to be everything the angels said I was, I didn’t want to turn away from my home, and I wasn’t prepared to love Dean as an angel. It was alien to me. It was terrifying.

 

But now, things are different. I can feel more easily as a human. I can love Dean from a perspective that can accommodate such emotions. And I can do it knowing that he feels something even remotely similar, that I’m not an inconvenience or a source of discomfort for him. Even if I still want to help my brethren and avenge those lost to Metatron’s wrongdoings, even if I get my grace back and fight… how can I leave Dean now? I finally understand my own emotions, I finally understand what it is to feel joy, to feel complete rather than irreconcilably conflicted. I finally feel at peace with choosing Dean, so how could I choose anything else?

 

“Surely he can see that things have changed. That I’ve changed,” I mumble, rubbing my forehead tiredly. Sam nods.

 

“Yeah, Cas, you changed. Big time. You became human.”

 

I squint at him, growing irritated. “So everyone keeps pointing out.”

 

Sam huffs. “So all the stuff that changed along with it seems pretty interconnected, right? I mean, it all happened really fast, man. You fell, you moved in, you started acting all differently, and suddenly you and Dean are together… don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great, but…”

 

I shake my head, unsure. “Are you saying that you think the things that have changed will reverse if I retrieve my grace?”

 

He gives me a sad look. “I’m saying that Dean might think so.”

 

“But-”

 

“If you’re going to try to apply logic,” Kevin cuts across me calmly, “save your breath. This stuff isn’t supposed to make sense. Feelings rarely do.”

 

Kevin grimaces on the word ‘feelings’ and I echo his expression, feeling frustrated. “Dean is being somewhat fatalistic about our relationship, if what you’re saying is true. Doesn’t he have any faith in me? He knows that I loved him long before I became human.”

 

My voice comes out plaintive; Sam’s eyes soften sympathetically and he claps me on the shoulder. “Yeah, Cas, he knows. He does. But Dean’s wanted this for so long, even if he maybe didn’t realise it. Stuff like this… in our life, if you get things you want just dropped in your lap like that… it seems too good to be true. I know my brother. He’s been waiting for this to go wrong. And like I said… you always leave.”

 

I stare up at him, mildly horrified. He says the last words with a small shrug, like it’s a hard fact of my existence, like it’s inevitable. I scramble for words. “But- but I did leave, as far as you knew. The false break up. You were shocked, you begged me to come back. If you were expecting me to walk out again anyway, then why-”

 

Sam is shaking his head. “Things seem different with you as a human. I didn’t expect you to leave so soon, and without your grace. But once you’re an angel again…”

 

I shrug out of his grip on my shoulder, backing away with my jaw set defensively. “I’m not going anywhere. Grace or no grace.”

 

Sam considers me, raising his eyebrows. “Hannah seems to think otherwise. She says your place is with your people.”

 

“My people?” I laugh without humour. “I don’t have a ‘people’ any more. But I will fight for the angels, and if I can I will destroy Metatron and anyone who stands with him. I just won’t do it at the cost of losing Dean. If Hannah has a problem with that-”

 

I stop, realising too late that if I anger Hannah she could well decide to leave us and put Sam’s life in danger. A sick stab of fear strikes my gut, cutting off my breath. But Sam grins softly.

 

“She says that if you think you can be angel and human at the same time, she has faith in you. She says that if Dean has any sense, he’ll have faith in you too.”

 

I stare at him, looking within his eyes to where Hannah must be staring right back. “Thank you. That means… a lot.”

 

I drop my gaze and take a deep, slow breath. “I should go and talk to Dean.”

 

Kevin snorts and flops down into a chair. “Yeah, good luck. Remember, forget the logic thing.”

 

I nod seriously. “Right.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes and gives me a light shove on the shoulder. “Go. He’s difficult, but we both know he’s not really angry. Just scared.”

 

I smile ruefully. “Thank you, Sam.”

 

“Don’t mention it. Just… make it better, yeah? Can’t deal with this kind of drama. It’s barely even noon, man.”

 

Sam smiles crookedly at me and turns away, pulling out his phone and flopping into a chair. I can see that he’s composing a text to Charlie, but I barely register that. I square my shoulders and walk out of the room, heading to Dean’s room. Our room.

 

I knock, but I don’t wait for a response before I crack the door open. “Dean? I’m coming in.”

 

No reply. I open the door and slip through, pushing it closed behind me.

 

Dean is sat on the side of the bed, staring down at a photo held loosely in his hands. He doesn’t look up as I take a few steps towards him and then halt, unsure.

 

“Dean?”

 

There’s a pause before he speaks, his voice low. “It’s not about Crowley or Metatron or Abaddon or whatever the fuck else. I was just… it’s not about that.”

 

I take a step closer. “I know.”

 

Dean nods, still staring down at the photo. His shoulders are hunched and tense. “I just kinda blew up because… it bothers me. The idea of you gettin’ your grace back. It bothers me.”

 

I step almost within touching distance. “I know.”

 

The photo is the one of me, from the retirement home with the cat. When I was an angel and Dean and I were still just complicated, intense, uncomfortable friends. Dean heaves a sigh, eyes fixed on the faded picture.

 

“I love you, Cas.”

 

My breath stops. I drag it in again, gulp heavily, my heart thudding. I take that last step, reach out and run my fingers slowly through his hair; he leans into the touch, his eyes closing. His voice sounded so weary and dejected, but mine is warm and husky when I reply.

 

“I know.”

 

Dean huffs a laugh and looks up at me, and I’m relieved to see no fear on his face. “Thanks, Han Solo.”

 

I smile. Dean’s made me watch the original Star Wars trilogy. “You already know how I feel. But if it makes you feel better to hear it back: I love you too, Dean.”

 

I slide my hand around to cup his cheek as I speak and he drops a shy kiss into my palm before looking down at the photo again. “Things were so different before you fell.”

 

I turn and sit down on the bed beside Dean with my leg pressed to his, leaning in to peer at the picture in his fingers. “Yes and no.”

 

Dean waits so I elaborate. “Circumstances were different. I was different, in some ways. But you weren’t. The way I feel about you wasn’t either. I can just process it better now. Falling in love is not… an angel thing. But it is a very, very human thing.”

 

Dean runs a thumb lightly over my face in the photo and I smile fondly.

 

“Do you think we ever would have gotten together if you hadn’t fell?” he asks very quietly. “Do you think it would have worked, even if we had?”

 

I ponder this, watching Dean’s profile. “Perhaps. Probably not for quite a long time. Maybe never. But yes, I think that once we got there… once we got here… that’s that.”

 

Dean looks at me. He’s so close, the freckles and fine lines on his face showing up clearly, the green of his eyes breathtaking. “That’s that?”

 

I nod firmly. “Human or angel, I am fully committed to you from now on.”

 

Dean gives a small, tremulous smile and leans forward to brush a kiss against my lips. He pulls back quickly, eyes downcast, grip tightened on the photograph. “Are you… are you gonna get your grace back?”

 

My heartbeat quickens. “Probably not if you ask me not to.”

 

Dean snorts, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do, man.”

 

“Dean,” I say flatly. He looks up. I raise an eyebrow. “I said ask, not tell. Nobody tells me what to do. I rebelled, remember?”

 

Dean breaks into a grin, biting his lip and glancing away once more. “Yes, sir.”

 

I chuckle but he sobers quickly, staring back down at the photo. I hesitate and my voice is quiet when I next speak.

 

“You’re worried that I’ll leave.”

 

Dean flinches but answers readily. “Yeah, Cas, I am. Can you blame me? Your life as an angel doesn’t really line up with staying.”

 

“Maybe not. But things can change. I already have changed, and not just my species. Do you really think I could walk away from you now? From this family?”

 

He glances at me, guarded. “What about Hannah? All that crap about you leading Heaven…”

 

I grimace. “I don’t really know what Hannah wants from me. I imagine neither of us will get what we expect from the other. For now, I don’t want to push her or anger her. She’s saving Sam.”

 

Dean nods and looks back down. After several seconds he swallows and speaks. “You want your grace back? You wanna be an angel again?”

 

I hesitate. “Yes. But I want you more.”

 

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to choose. We’ll get your grace.”

 

I blink, then feel a smile unfurl on my face. A slow elation builds in my stomach. “Really? You- you’ll still- even if I’m not human?”

 

Dean gives me a steady look. “I already told you. The way I feel hasn’t changed. So if you’re sure that the way you feel won’t change either, and you promise to stick around for the long haul… yeah. Let’s kick Metatron’s sorry ass and get that halo back on your stupid head.”

 

I pull him into my arms, pressing my face into his neck. “Thank you. I promise, absolutely. Thank you, Dean.”

 

He huffs and snakes his arms around my waist, mumbling: “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just try not to get killed before you have healing powers again.”

 

I laugh and squeeze him tighter. “Yes, sir.”

 

We break apart and I kiss him firmly, cradling his jaw in one hand. He hums against my lips and I pull back slightly, noses still brushing. The moment is peaceful.

 

Dean’s phone rings, and we both jump. I swear softly and rub at my nose as I shuffle back and watch Dean dig in his pocket, scowling.

 

“Fuckin’ Charlie,” he mutters angrily, glancing at the caller ID before answering. “What?”

 

_“Well, hello to you too, Grumpy.”_

__

“You got shitty timing, you know that?”

 

_“Oh, did I interrupt something?”_

__

Dean glances at me, flushing. “No, just- never mind.”

 

_“OK then! Hi, Castiel, by the way.”_

__

I smile. “Hello, Charlie.”

 

_“Ha, I knew I interrupted something! Castiel, tell your boyfriend he sucks at keeping me updated.”_

__

I blink and look doubtfully at Dean. “Uh, you-”

 

“Shut up, Cas,” he interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “Charlie, sorry about that. I should’ve called you earlier. It all worked, Sam is fine-”

 

_“I know, he texted me! Said you guys had a fight so I figured I’d get in there before the make-up sex and call you.”_

__

Dean shuts his eyes. “Charlie-”

 

_“Relax, I have good news!”_

__

He opens one eye, looking apprehensive. “What good news?”

 

_“Guess.”_

__

“No.”

 

_“You’re no fun.”_

__

“I’ve been told. What good news, Charlie?”

 

There’s a pause; Dean and I exchange an expectant look.

 

_“Buckle up, bitches. I’m coming to visit!”_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Sorry for the wait. I feel almost as crappy as the SPN team ought to feel with all these dumb hiatuses -.- Anyway, yay, actual Charlie!

The rest of the week mostly consists of throwing ourselves into researching where Metatron might be. It’s a tedious process and we take long breaks; we even turn to a nearby hunting case to break the monotony.

 

It’s a witch, albeit not a very powerful one. Dean is predictably worried and protective due to my human status, but his training has paid off. We track down the witch, wipe out the burgeoning coven and patch up the damage done within two days. It’s gratifying how well we all work together, how useful I feel now that I’m a half-decent hunter. Dean’s proud, relieved smiles as we all toast to our victory back at the bunker are ample reward for all the effort I’ve put into improving my ‘people skills’ and getting comfortable with guns and base spellcraft.

 

The day of Charlie’s arrival is largely taken up with getting the place ready for her - apparently she requires a lot of snacks - but the search for a lead on Metatron continues. At some point in the afternoon, Dean claims the shopping duties with an odd enthusiasm and disappears in the Impala, so the rest of us stay behind. To my surprise, Sam requests to see the video of Gadreel meeting with Metatron when Sam was still the disgraced angel’s vessel. I agree dubiously.

 

Watching Sam watch himself being controlled by Gadreel on the fuzzy camera footage Charlie sent is an uncomfortable experience. He stares intently at the screen, a furrow between his brows and fists clenched tightly on the table in front of him. I eye him worriedly. The footage ends.

 

“Well,” exhales Sam quietly. “That was… fucking weird.”

 

“I imagine so,” I murmur sympathetically. He glances at me.

 

“Did he… talk to you guys?”

 

I grimace. “A few times. Not often. Never for very long.”

 

“Huh.” He shudders. “It’s like when you get wasted and don’t remember anything the next day, but way worse. Real glad that Hannah doesn’t pull that crap.”

 

“Hannah is respectful of your autonomy,” I agree solemnly. “Now, we should probably continue looking into public camera footage around the area. Hopefully Metatron was on foot that night.”

 

Kevin comes in at that moment with bowls of canned soup for a snack. It doesn’t taste great, but it’s hot and the bunker is a little chilly. We eat in silence, scrolling through pages and watching sped up camera footage from dozens of locations. Kevin sits opposite us, working diligently on the angel tablets.

 

Long after our bowls are empty, creeping into evening, Dean comes in with several bags of shopping. Sam gets up, yawning and stretching, to help him pack it away. I smile softly at Dean in greeting and then look back at the laptop screen, scooting closer to watch yet another grainy black-and-white video of a mostly empty street.

 

“Dude, you were hours,” I hear Sam say. Dean tells him to shut up. The street is still empty. I watch the video flicker by at four times the normal speed, watch the odd spark of an insect flying past the camera or a cat darting across the road. A man appears, only on screen for a second. I hit pause, rewind, play it at normal speed with baited breath.

 

It’s not Metatron. It never is. I play the video on fast forward again, and the street remains empty.

 

Sam sits heavily back down as Dean leaves the room with a bag full of bathroom supplies.

 

“He went kinda overboard,” Sam comments. He lowers his voice. “He gets like this when he’s stressed out. Gets really into looking after people. He’s probably gonna smother Charlie with food and movies and making sure the new house is going OK.”

 

I smile, clicking on another footage link. “Dean is a very caring person.”

 

“Yeah. Hey, who was that?”

 

I pause, go back. As I suspected, the person shuffling up the street away from the camera is clearly a woman and clearly even shorter and squatter than Metatron.

 

“Bag lady,” says Sam in a deeply disappointed tone. “Damn, I keep doing tha-”

 

He sits up straight suddenly, eyes excited. I stop the video and turn to face him properly.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Hannah,” Sam breathes. “She says… wait-”

 

He shuts his eyes, nodding slightly as he listens inside his head. I shift impatiently in my chair, glancing at Kevin who’s looked up to watch us.

 

“There’s word about Metatron on angel radio,” Sam announces after a beat. I tense up. “Apparently someone defected from this guy Bartholomew’s faction? And she spilled everything they’ve learned from tracking Metatron. Bartholomew hunted her down, but it was too late. It’s filtered through, everyone’s buzzing about it. They all want Metatron’s head.”

 

“Understandably,” I say grimly. “What are they saying?”

 

Sam listens for another moment. “He’s been spotted in Somerset, Pennsylvania. Gadreel is with him.”

 

I exchange a dark look with Kevin. Sam continues: “Sounds like he’s trying to gain more followers. Trying to get some kind of inner circle happening. He’s not having much luck.”

 

“Good,” I mumble somewhat petulantly. Sam huffs a laugh.

 

“Yeah. He’s warded himself and Gadreel but he can’t keep a very low profile when he’s trying to start a cult, I guess. He- wow.”

 

“What?” I urge, leaning forward. Sam’s mouth twists apologetically as he looks at me.

 

“He’s, uh, spreading lies about you, Cas. Saying that what happened was all your fault.”

 

I sigh. “I expected as much.”

 

Sam, shakes his head, eyes angry. “He’s such an asshole.”

 

“Yes,” I agree simply. “Although some of the blame for the fall certainly does rest with me. When was he spotted in Pennsylvania?”

 

“Only this morning. The angel who defected did it for a reason. She overhead Bartholomew discussing whether he should offer Metatron a deal or something. She didn’t like that, so she ran off and leaked Metatron’s location to another group of angels. Wanted to kick off a manhunt. She, uh, didn’t last long.”

 

“That’s a shame. But she did some serious damage to Bartholomew’s reputation,” I murmur approvingly. “Metatron can’t still be there in Somerset. He must have run as soon as he heard the rumours. But if Hannah only just heard, chances are Metatron only just did too…”

 

Dean comes back in at that moment. “Only just heard what?”

 

I look up. “Metatron has been spotted in Pennsylvania. He’s being hunted.”

 

“Shit,” Dean breathes, sitting down opposite me. He frowns at the table. “We gotta get to him. But… we won’t be fast enough.”

 

“No,” I agree. “There are undoubtedly angels in the area already, searching for him. Chasing him will probably be a fruitless endeavour.”

 

Sam sighs. “We’re going to have to lure him to us.”

 

“What, here?” Dean asks sceptically. Sam shakes his head.

 

“No, we should make it as irresistible as possible for him. Get close. We already have the bait.”

 

Sam glances at Kevin, who raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

 

“No,” Sam says calmly. “The tablets.”

 

I stare at Sam, my mind ticking over, but Dean gets there first. He sits forward in his seat, eyes intent upon his brother. “You think that’s what Metatron wanted Gadreel to get.”

 

Sam nods and I echo him, slumping back in my seat. “Of course. Of course that’s what he wants. Alright, so we offer them to him and-”

 

“We can’t give him the tablets!” Kevin interrupts sharply, eyes wide. “Guys, you can’t be serious-”

 

“Relax,” Dean says loudly, raising his hands. “No one’s gonna give anyone the tablets. But we need Metatron to come to us, and those’ll draw him in.”

 

“For that to work, we need Metatron to think we’re totally desperate,” I frown. “Desperate enough to actually trade the tablets.”

 

“Right, so we get him to think that you’re dying or something without your grace,” Dean says excitedly. “Like, you’re horribly injured and-”

 

“Except Gadreel knows about Hannah,” I remind him. “They know that Hannah could heal me of any injury. And Metatron knows that you wouldn’t trade the tablets just for me; you and Sam always fight for the greater good, and Metatron with that kind of power is a worse prospect for the world than my death.”

 

Dean frowns and opens his mouth to answer but before he can, Sam’s phone rings, lying on the table. Sam picks it up after glancing at the screen. “Hey, Charlie!”

 

I can’t hear her voice but it’s clear when Sam starts reeling off a pizza order that she’s almost arrived and is getting dinner on her way. It’s almost eight o’clock and my stomach feels pitifully empty; I sigh with relief at the prospect of food, then tense up as I realise that Charlie will be here soon. I’ll actually meet her. I’m so busy buzzing with nerves that don’t notice Dean getting up and moving to sit next to me. I jump as he shifts his chair so that he’s close by my side, knocking his shoulder against mine. I look at him, bemused. He’s still frowning, eyes downcast, voice a mumble when he speaks:

 

“You don’t know whether I’d trade the tablets for you. I might.”

 

I smile, but shake my head. “You wouldn’t.”

 

Dean chews his lower lip, hands clasped in his lap. “Huh. Glad you think so, ‘cause I ain’t so sure.”

 

I blink at him. “But-”

 

“Losing you might not be as bad for the world as giving Metatron power,” Dean cuts in, still very quiet, still not looking at me. “But it’s pretty off limits for me these days. I’m not saying I know what decision I’d make, I’m just sayin’… don’t be so quick to assume that I’m so selfless. Or that you don’t mean that much to me. OK?”

 

I stare at him, but he’s examining his right knee with a fixed determination, fingers knotted together. He’s clearly very uncomfortable, discussing his feelings and our relationship in front of Sam - who’s still debating the merits of garlic bread with Charlie - and Kevin, who is sitting silently opposite and obviously listening to every word being spoken. I should probably find some way to ease the moment back into non-romantic territory.

 

Instead, I kiss Dean. I lean in and tilt my head to capture his mouth, soft and grateful, cupping my hand around his neck. He freezes and I pull back but linger close for a moment before letting go of him and settling back in my own seat, still gazing at him.

 

“Thank you,” I murmur. “You mean that much to me, too.”

 

Dean stares owlishly at me before shrugging and looking away again, raising a hand to scratch at his neck, clearly attempting a casual expression. It’s a little compromised by the fact that he’s blushing bright red. I watch him, marvelling that I never suspected Dean’s feelings for me once before the fall. He’s really quite a terrible actor when he’s flustered.

 

“Hey, guys,” comes Sam’s cautious voice from my other side. I turn to look at him; he’s holding the phone a little away from his ear. “Charlie’s about to put in our order, you wanna choose?”

 

There’s a smile barely kept from his face and lurking in his voice, but I ignore that. “I’ll just have a cheese pizza, please.”

 

Sam peers around me to grin all too widely at Dean, who clears his throat. “Uh, something BBQ-based. And with bacon.”

 

Sam relays this to Charlie before looking expectantly at Kevin. I turn back to Dean.

 

“Sorry,” I whisper. He glances at me and rolls his eyes, slinging his arm across the back of my chair.

 

“Don’t be.”

 

We discuss how to trap Metatron for the next twenty minutes and I’ve almost forgotten that Charlie is on her way, despite my empty stomach. We all jump a little at the loud knocking on the door. Dean leaps up, smiling, to go and answer. I sit up straight and glance nervously at Sam and Kevin as Dean climbs the stairs. They both look relaxed, expectant. I run a hand through my hair, tug at my shirt. I don’t know why I’m fussing. I just really want Charlie to like me.

 

“Dean!”

 

Her voice is even brighter in person. I crane my neck as I hear Dean chuckling and greeting her. After half a minute or so of this they start down the stairs, Dean carrying a stack of pizzas, Charlie chatting animatedly about the drive over. I peer at her with interest, having never seen a picture of her. The hair is the most noticeable thing, bright red and shoulder length, bangs flopping into her crinkled up eyes. She’s grinning, pretty in an elfin way, radiating energy from her slender form, duffel bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. She only looks at us when her and Dean have almost reached the bottom of the stairs and I find myself rising clumsily from my seat as she meets my eyes. Her own gaze lights up even further as she regards me, striding past Dean towards the table and dropping her bag unceremoniously onto the seat next to Kevin. She tears her eyes from mine to smile at the prophet, who’s also stood up.

 

“Hey, loser,” she says warmly, pulling him into a tight hug. He chuckles softly, patting her back. She looks to Sam next, hurrying around the table and into his open arms. “Sam the man! Damn, I’ve missed you.”

 

“Yeah, right back atcha,” Sam huffs, amused but gentle as he peers down at the top of her head. She breaks away from him with a giggle and then turns to me, stepping close. I smile uncertainly down at her.

 

“You must be Castiel,” she says, unexpectedly softly. I nod quickly.

 

“I am. It’s good to meet you in person, Charlie.”

 

She stares at me for a moment before her eyes flicker over to Dean, who’s already opened his box of pizza. She grins and winks at him.

 

“I was right,” she says smugly. Dean frowns at her, clearly nonplussed. Charlie looks back up at me with a pleased expression. “He’s totally dreamy.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHARLIIIIIEEEEE <3 both on the page and on the screen! Yay!  
> Who else is hoping the mystery 'commander' angel in the other world is alternate!Cas?? I want so bad to see Dean encounter a version of Cas who never fell for him, both to see Dean's reaction in general and to demonstrate how huge the changes in Cas's life have been.  
> This chapter is a little bit filler, sorry! Hope you like it anyway.

Charlie is the most cheerful person I’ve ever met, and I quickly decide that she’s a good influence on the rest of us. Kevin is smiling more than I’ve ever seen him smile, Sam is cracking jokes with an ease and a confidence that suits him, and Dean… well, Sam was right. Dean is throwing himself into looking after our visitor - looking after us all - with clear enthusiasm.

 

“’Nother beer?” he asks Charlie eagerly as she sets down her just-empty can. She raises her eyebrows at him.

 

“You trying to get me drunk? I might have another one after I finish my pizza. I’m OK for now.”

 

Dean shrugs but offers the can to Sam instead, who takes it with a smile. Dean turns his beady gaze onto Kevin next, sitting quietly at Charlie’s side, nibbling at his food.

 

“Kevin, sure you’re OK with just cola?”

 

The prophet nods. “Not keen on beer.”

 

“Weirdo,” Dean says good-naturedly. He doesn’t sit down but turns to me, eyeing my quarter-full pizza box critically.

 

“You not hungry?”

 

I look at my pizza. “I am, I’m just not eating it as fast as you. You do realise that you’re the only one not still eating, don’t you? The human digestive system can respond poorly to swift consumption of food, Dean-”

 

“Whatever,” he interrupts with a roll of his eyes, finally flopping back down into his chair. “Just ‘cause you guys are all slow eaters.”

 

Sam speaks indignantly after swallowing his last mouthful of pizza. “Hey, I just finished! Cas is right, you eat too fast. And too much at once. One pizza slice does not equal one mouthful.”

 

Dean casually sticks his middle finger up at his brother and Charlie snorts. “Aaww, such sweet brotherly affection.”

 

I chuckle and take a reasonable-sized bite of pizza. Dean slings his arm over the back of my chair once more, propping his feet up on another seat and taking a swig of beer. He and Charlie fall into a lazy conversation about some series of films called Marvel, or something similar. I only half-listen.

 

“So Charlie,” Sam ventures after he’s come back from washing his hands. “Dean’s told you that we’re probably gonna go after Metatron?”

 

Charlie looks surprised. “Uh, no. When was this decided? Oohh, can I come?”

 

“Dude, it’s not a school excursion,” Kevin mutters with an eye roll.

 

“Yeah, I know that, guppy. Some of us aren’t still school aged. Unlike you I am a proper grown up,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out. Dean laughs softly beside me. Kevin gives a long-suffering sigh.

 

“Guys,” Sam says impatiently. “Kevin’s right, this is serious. OK, Charlie, listen up. Metatron’s been spotted in Pennsylvania and his movements are being tracked. We’ve gotta get to him so we’re gonna get as close as possible and then lure him to us using the tablets. Once we’ve got him, we need to trap him somehow and make him co-operate.”

 

Charlie frowns. “Wait, wait, hold up. Remind me again what the mission is here? What is he co-operating about?”

 

There’s a short silence. Dean lowers his feet from the chair they’re propped on and straightens up in his seat; I can sense him looking at me. I shut my empty pizza box, shifting uncomfortably before I speak.

 

“We’re getting back my grace.”

 

Charlie blinks at me. “Your grace?”

 

I nod. “My angelic essence that Metatron cut out of me to turn me human. He has it, or he knows where it is. If we get it back I can return to being an angel.”

 

“Right, OK,” Charlie says slowly. Her eyes flicker to Dean and then back to me. “Are you… unhappy as a human?”

 

Dean has tensed up beside me. I look at him and wait for him to meet my eyes.

 

“I’m not unhappy,” I say firmly. He regards me silently, but his shoulders relax a little. I turn back to Charlie and continue. “But I miss my grace, and now is not a good time for me to be without my powers. As an angel, I’ll be a lot more confident about our chances in the fight against Metatron and Abaddon.”

 

“Oh, yeah, about this Abaddon. You need to tell me more about her,” she says grimly. The conversation veers into a discussion regarding the Knight of Hell for some time, followed by a more light-hearted exchange of memories from the times Charlie has spent with the Winchesters. It’s nice to hear her perspective on their adventures and the time passes quickly. After two hours and four beers I find that I’m laughing a lot more than usual, leaning unconsciously into Dean next to me, content and relaxed.

 

“Man, it’s late,” Kevin yawns, stretching. Dean snorts right in my ear, making me jump a little. I’ve gotten sleepy too, lulled by the way Dean is tracing a light pattern into my shoulder.

 

“It’s like, half eleven, small fry,” Charlie teases fondly. Kevin tosses her a middle finger and gets up from his chair.

 

“Whatever, I’m still going to bed,” he says with a shrug. “What’s the plan tomorrow? We heading off to Pennsylvania straight away?”

 

“Not tomorrow,” Sam says. “But the day after is show time. We need to get any research done and preparations made tomorrow and be ready to hit the road the next morning.”

 

“Can we take two cars?” pipes up Charlie. “Not that a group road trip wouldn’t be great, but it’s gonna get cramped.”

 

“I second that motion,” says Dean, raising his hand. Charlie nods and looks up at Kevin.

 

“You’re with me, K-dog,” she grins. “We can eat candy and talk about girls!”

 

Kevin chuckles, nods and waves goodnight as he leaves the room. Sam stretches with a sigh and then looks at Charlie.

 

“Can I come in your car too?”

 

I glance at Dean. He scowls at his brother. “Dude, you’re ditching me? Come on! We’re awesome at road trips.”

 

Sam smiles gently at Dean. “Yeah, but I don’t wanna be the third wheel stuck in the back seat.”

 

“You’d still be ridin’ shotgun!” Dean argues. He pauses and shoots me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Cas, but it’s kinda his spot.”

 

I shrug. “I know it is.”

 

Sam gives Dean a disbelieving look and a huff of laughter, shaking his head. “Thanks, Dean, but I’ll hang out with Charlie and Kevin this trip. Cas can have my spot. OK?”

 

Dean settles back in his chair sulkily and nods. I exchange an amused glance with Sam and Charlie, the latter of whom yawns hugely a moment later.

 

“Oh, boy,” she sighs. “Now that Kevin’s out of the room I can finally admit how much I wanna go to bed too. Such an old lady.”

 

Sam laughs. “You’re still younger than me, don’t worry.”

 

“Pretty sure I win that game, you kids ain’t got nothin’ on me,” Dean grins. I clear my throat pointedly and they all stop and look at me.

 

“I was created before the genesis of life on Earth,” I say modestly. Dean rolls his eyes and Charlie nods seriously.

 

“Cas wins this one,” announces Sam. “OK, I’m off to bed. Charlie, you know where your room is, right?”

 

“Yeah,” she says through another yawn. “I’m gonna go there right now. ‘Night, all. Sweet dreams!”

 

I murmur a response and nod at Sam as they both leave the room. Dean sighs next to me.

 

“I feel like I should get some more research done before hittin’ the hay, but damn, I could go for some sleep right now as well,” he says with a tired smile. I clamber to my feet and hold out my hand.

 

“Me, too,” I reply simply. Dean chuckles and lets me pull him to his feet, trailing after me as I lead us to the bathroom. We brush our teeth in companionable silence and don’t speak again until we reach our room.

 

“Tonight was awesome,” Dean mumbles as we get undressed, barely audible as he tugs his t shirt over his head. I nod as I kick off my jeans and pick them up to fold. Dean folds all of his clothes when he’s home - unlike his much untidier habits when he’s out of the bunker - and quickly trained me to do the same as soon as I started sleeping in his room.

 

“It’s great to finally meet Charlie,” I reply with a smile, shrugging off my plaid shirt and my own t shirt. “And good to have plans made.”

 

“Yeah, well, totally all that too,” says Dean as I slip into bed and stretch out under the covers. He fiddles with the button on his jeans, head ducked, not looking at me. “Awesome to have Charlie here, definitely. Yeah. But I also meant… I don’t know.”

 

I tilt my head, curious. “What?”

 

I wait as he shucks off his jeans and folds them. He still hasn’t answered when he crawls into bed next to me and I turn to face him, focused.

 

“Dean, what were you going to say?”

 

He looks unusually bashful, but after a pause he glances into my eyes. “It’s nice to have everyone I care about together and knowing about us and… to just be a… a couple. I guess.”

 

I can feel my eyes soften and he flushes, looking away again. I think of the way he kept his arm around me all night, how I scooted closer to his side as the evening drew on, how his light but protective touches lingered on my shoulder and occasionally my hair, how safe and warm and comfortable it made me feel.

 

I creep forward in the bed, into his space, into his arms. I brush a fond smile against his mouth.

 

“I love you,” I murmur affectionately. Dean’s eyes have closed but he makes a small noise and gathers me to him, hugging me against his chest. I nudge my head under his chin and sigh blissfully. I’m never going to get used to how right this feels. Our legs tangle together under the covers and we lie in silence for some time. Dean’s breathing is so deep and slow that I start to think he’s fallen asleep; I’m not far off of it myself. I debate lazily whether I should pull away to turn the lamp off-

 

“Did you mean it when you said ‘whenever you’re ready’?”

 

I open my eyes, surprised and puzzled by Dean’s sudden question, mumbled into my hair. He speaks again before I can ask after his meaning.

 

“I mean… what you said about… sex.”

 

That wakes me up a little, although I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. “When I said-?”

 

“’Whenever you’re ready’. That’s what you said to me.”

 

I cast my mind back. Dean must be referring to when we spoke about having penetrative sex. We agreed to try it sometime soon; whenever Dean is ready. I nod slowly against his collarbone. “Yes, I meant it. Of course.”

 

He shifts, tense. “I’m ready.”

 

I frown in dismay. “Now?”

 

“Not right now,” he says hastily. “Crap, no, I just meant… we don’t have to wait. Unless you want to.”

 

“Oh,” I sigh with relief. “Good, I’m far too sleepy to give an enthusiastic sexual performance right now.”

 

He shakes with laughter against me and I grin, closing my eyes again.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry, Cas. Me too. I’m just makin’ sure you know that I’m, uh, ready. And we’re all, uh, stocked up. We got what we need.”

 

I nuzzle into Dean’s chest, drifting off despite my best efforts. “That’s great, Dean…”

 

He kisses my hair. “Don’t worry about it. Sweet dreams, sunshine.”

 

I don’t hear if he says anything else. I’m fast asleep.

 

I wake up, as I do more often than I like, to an empty bed. Dean simply doesn’t sleep for as long as me. By the time I wake naturally, he’s already up and dressed. He seems to manage almost six hours of sleep every night with me, which is an improvement on his habitual four hours. Sometimes he reads in bed in the morning, or goes and has breakfast before returning to our room and dozing off again. Those are my favourite mornings, when I awaken to Dean snuggled in next to me, within reach.

 

But mornings like this are just as common. I get dressed, still yawning, and trudge to the kitchen. Everyone but Charlie is in there, Kevin poring over the tablets and the brothers inspecting something on Dean’s laptop as they eat from matching cereal bowls.

 

I mutter a greeting as I walk over to the counter where a tall glass of Sam’s freshly squeezed juice sits. He’s started making some for me every morning, seemingly delighted to have someone else partaking in his breakfast tradition. Kevin claims to dislike pulpy fruit juice and Dean is against the concept on principle. Personally, I think it’s a pleasant way to start the day.

 

Charlie wanders in almost twenty minutes later, as I’m washing up after finishing my toast. She’s yawning, wearing pyjamas with little winged spots all over the pants and ‘you’re quite a catch’ emblazoned across her chest. It’s an odd thing to have written on sleepwear, but a lot of things about Charlie seem slightly odd to me. She makes coffee and winks at me as she settles beside me at the table.

 

“Mornin’, boys,” she greets pleasantly. Dean smiles at her and Sam mumbles a response. Kevin pours some of Dean’s sugary cereal into two bowls and adds milk and I watch him give one to Charlie; he’s clearly been waiting for her to arrive to eat breakfast with her, which is endearing. Sam is tapping away on the laptop, engrossed in whatever he’s just been murmuring to Dean about, but Dean himself catches my eye with a rare contented smile on his face. I return the smile and I know intuitively that he’s thinking the same as me: this feels like a family, like a real human home. And it’s wonderful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else think those last three episodes were awful? I thought this season started well but went downhill from there. SO many missed opportunities to do interesting and intelligent things. I wish they'd cancel SPN and pick up Wayward Sisters instead :(

Breakfast turns out to be the only relaxed part of the day until late afternoon. Sam is directing our preparations but is also getting frequent updates from Hannah on angel radio. He’s stressed, but the long stretch of radio silence in the afternoon makes him downright panicky. Charlie and Kevin are huddled in a corner of the library for most of the day, working out spells and warding as well as monitoring police and media in Pennsylvania. It falls to Dean and me to do the packing and to discuss contingency plans with Sam. All of us are a little on edge.

 

“But what if Metatron’s got some plot we don’t know about?” Dean is saying just as I check the time on my phone. It’s four o’clock. Part of me wishes it was tomorrow already and part of me is desperate for more time to prepare for whatever lies ahead.

 

“I don’t know, Dean, we’re not exactly at an advantage here,” snaps Sam, jaw twitching. I sigh at Dean’s similar expression.

 

“Perhaps Dean and I ought to go and double-check that we’ve got everything we might need from the spellcraft supplies,” I suggest quietly. Sam nods shortly and I stand; Dean does the same a moment later, glaring at the floor.

 

“Come on,” I mutter, leading the way out of the library. Dean is silent all the way to the store room but once the door is shut behind us he exhales gustily, sitting on the edge of a workbench.

 

“He’s still pissed at me.”

 

“I think he’s just stressed,” I reply reasonably. Dean harrumphs and is silent for a few moments before he sighs again, loudly.

 

“This is such a fuckin’ drag,” he grumbles. I nod absently, scanning the shelves for the good mortar and pestle that seems to have gone missing. Dean dangles his feet in front of him and leans back on his hands, tipping his head back.

 

“I mean, is it so much to ask for some peace?” he asks the ceiling plaintively. I snort, moving some jars aside.

 

“We’ve just had a week of relative peace,” I remind him. “Ah! Found it.”

 

Dean gives me a mournful look. “But now we have to go risk our necks in a road trip from hell. Again.”

 

“At least it’s not a road trip to Hell,” I comment wryly, walking over to him and setting the mortar and pestle down. I hook my hands under his knees and drag him a few inches towards me, standing between his legs. Dean smirks at me, letting himself get tugged forward without shifting from his relaxed position. I raise my eyebrows, placing my hands either side of him and leaning into his space.

 

“I do agree with you,” I assure him in a murmur, holding his gaze. “But this is what we do. And it’s important. You’re not the kind of man to step aside and let the enemy prevail without a fight.”

 

Dean hums in agreement. “True, Cas, very true. And neither are you. Wanna know what kind of man you are?”

 

I cock my head, intrigued. “What kind of man am I?”

 

Dean breaks into a grin, eyes crinkled up. “My kind of man.”

 

I blink. He waggles his eyebrows at me. I frown.

 

“Was that… a pick up line? You keep doing those.”

 

Dean snickers, shaking his head. “Come on, it’s funny. It’s charming. I’ve been told I’m very charming.”

 

“You are, but it’s despite the pick up lines, not because of them.”

 

Dean shrugs, finally sitting upright and leaning in to ghost his mouth over mine.

 

“I’ll take that,” he murmurs. He kisses me gently. Dean seems to be getting gentler and slower the more we do this, as though he’s settling in and losing the desperate need to rush. He still turns passionate with little prompting and still seems to enjoy when I take charge, but when I leave it to him he’s wonderfully soft and caring.

 

So I leave it to him for a time, leaning into the lazy, drifting kiss without touching him otherwise, sighing into his mouth when I feel his hand creep into my hair as always. I wonder if Dean will ever be capable of kissing me without eventually touching my hair.

 

Probably not. I can’t seem to find it in me to mind.

 

Dinner is not a group affair. Charlie and Sam both declare that they want something a little healthier than the bucket of fried chicken Dean and Kevin come back from town with. I brave Dean’s exaggerated disappointment to agree with them and the three of us head out to find an alternative. Charlie puts on some kind of upbeat music in the car and Sam breaks into a chuckle, looking more relaxed than he has in hours.

 

“Man, it’s been a while since I’ve heard anything but classic rock played in a car,” he remarks lightly. Charlie grins as she drives us up the gravel laneway leading from the bunker.

 

“Dean’s got restricted tastes, huh?” she replies. Sam glances back at me where I sit in the back seat.

 

“Hmm, not as restricted as he used to pretend,” he says with raised eyebrows and a smirk. I roll my eyes at him, well aware of the double entendre. Charlie meets my eyes in the rear-view mirror with a gleam in her gaze.

 

“Yeah, Castiel, been meaning to get you alone for a little chat,” she says brightly.

 

“We’re not alone,” I point out. Charlie waves a hand airily.

 

“Sam doesn’t count.”

 

“Thanks,” mutters Sam. Charlie ignores him and continues.

 

“You and Dean are pretty serious, huh?”

 

I blink. “I’ve been told that I am lacking in levity, but Dean is generally-”

 

“No,” sighs the redhead. “I mean your relationship. You guys are, like, committed to each other and stuff. Right?”

 

“Oh. Yes. Well, I suppose I can only speak for myself, so speaking for myself… yes.”

 

Charlie nods thoughtfully. “OK. Well, look, Sam is Dean’s baby brother. So it kinda falls to me instead to give you the big brother speech.”

 

“That makes no-”

 

“Shush, Sam. Castiel, listen up. You seem great and super in love with Dean and stuff, which is awesome. But he also seems super into you. Which is also awesome, but it leaves him kinda vulnerable. Now, Dean knows what getting hurt feels like. Losing people. Being betrayed. He’s been there and it’s messed him up enough that he’s put up some pretty heavy walls. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this. You got past those walls, after all, and from what I hear it took you years… so you get it. You get Dean. And I’m sure you have no intention of hurting him. But if you do, I don’t care if you’ve got grace or not. I will hurt you. And I might seem too small and nice to do that, but trust me, I can and I will. It might be a knife or a bullet or a spell, it might just be a file or footage sent to the right person, but if you let Dean down, I will tear you down. OK?”

 

Charlie smiles widely at me in the rear-view mirror.

 

“Jesus, Charlie,” Sam mutters, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. I tilt my head and hold the young woman’s gaze, surprised and impressed.

 

“OK,” I agree after a pause. “You and I are in full agreement. I too am prepared to tear down anyone who harms Dean or attempts to do so. That includes myself. And you, of course.”

 

Charlie’s smile turns a little more genuine. She looks across at Sam.

 

“I really like him,” she says seriously. Sam huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah, me too,” he says wryly. “Oh, hey, there’s a Thai place coming up… yeah, that one. Just pull over here.”

 

After dinner - which is delicious and intriguingly spicy - we return to the bunker to find Dean and Kevin both sipping at Dean’s expensive ‘celebration’ scotch and looking pleased with themselves.

 

“Hey, losers,” Dean greets cheerfully, raising his glass. Kevin echoes the gesture. “How was your deeply unsatisfying not-chicken?”

 

I frown suspiciously. “Has something happened? You seem… jovial.”

 

“Made a breakthrough,” grins Kevin, leaning back in his chair. “Metatron won’t know what hit him!”

 

Sam steps forward, alert. “What? What is it?”

 

“Tell ‘em, Kev,” chortles Dean. I eye him with some amusement, raising a brow as he winks at me. He’s slightly tipsy. My attention turns to Kevin as the young prophet speaks.

 

“Found a spell that tracks grace. All we need to do is get hold of Metatron once, perform this spell to turn his grace into a homing signal and then threaten to hand the spell over to Bartholomew. Don’t think Metatron wants his location being broadcast at all times to the mob boss who wants him dead.”

 

I’m smiling by the time he finishes. “Kevin, that’s fantastic!”

 

“Yep,” he agrees with a grin, raising his glass once more. Sam is nodding slowly, a pleased and somewhat relieved expression on his face. Charlie bounces over to Kevin for an enthusiastic high five. I look over at Dean to find him already watching me, his gaze oddly heated. He holds my curious stare as he sips at his drink and I shift on my feet nervously, feeling a little warm. The way Dean is looking at me holds some kind of intent and I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but the smouldering edge to his gaze is making me wonder whether he’d rather we were alone.

 

A moment later, Dean breaks our shared eye contact to knock back the last of his whisky and then stand up from his seat with a stretch. “Alright, I might head off to bed early if there’s nothing else. Big day tomorrow.”

 

Sam blinks incredulously at his brother. “Dean, it’s not even eight thirty.”

 

Dean shrugs, putting his glass down on the table. “Yeah, well, we don’t want anyone sleeping in tomorrow. Early to bed, early to rise, all that shit, y’know?”

 

Sam shakes his head and shrugs. “Sure, whatever. Night, then.”

 

Dean waves goodnight to Charlie and Kevin, who are engrossed in examining the spell Kevin and Dean found. I keep my eyes on Dean as he walks past me, my lips quirking at the smirk he gives me.

 

“See you soon,” he murmurs lowly as he passes me, the back of his hand deliberately brushing mine. I can feel that I’m blushing. I clear my throat as Dean leaves the room, suddenly in a hurry to follow him. I should take a little more interest in this new plan to blackmail Metatron first, though. I drift over to look at the spell, skim-reading the Enochian and nodding vaguely over Charlie’s shoulder. She twists and blinks up at me.

 

“Dude,” she whispers, “what are you doing? Go get laid.”

 

I gape at her and then flash a scowl at Kevin, whose shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. Luckily, Sam is off returning a pile of books to their shelves and can’t hear us.

 

“I was just having a look at the spell and… you don’t know whether I’m… whether that’s happening tonight,” I mumble defensively, scratching agitatedly at the back of my neck. Charlie rolls her eyes.

 

“Please, Dean does bedroom eyes with about as much subtlety as the bat signal. It’s… embarrassing, but adorable. Go!”

 

I shake my head, cheeks warm, but turn and walk quickly out of the room. I call out a goodnight to Sam as I go, not waiting to hear his reply. I stop off in the bathroom and probably spend a few minutes too long in there. I stare at my reflection. I can’t help wondering whether tonight will be… the night. Dean did say that he felt ready. And if Dean is ready, then so am I. My fingers pause where they’re rearranging my hair parting as a flicker of anxious doubt nips at me.

 

Am I ready?

 

I close my eyes and think about it seriously. I have a tendency to only consider Dean’s perspective on issues, to disregard my own comfort or wellbeing. I’ve recently begun to admit to myself how unhealthy that is. If my relationship with Dean is to function long term, it needs to be equal and balanced. I need to think about myself too. I love Dean and I want him, but is this a step I’m fully comfortable with taking?

 

I take a full minute to stand in the bathroom and mull it over, conscious that Dean is waiting patiently for me and that he might not even be expecting anything different from usual tonight. This whole debate is occurring totally inside my head, but it feels pivotal to me.

 

Abruptly, I come to a decision. Nodding firmly at the mirror, I exit the bathroom and stride purposefully towards the bedroom. I pause at the door, wondering if I should knock. Do I usually knock? Why do I feel so damn nervous?

 

I heave a sigh, exasperated with myself, and decide to just open the door slowly so as not to startle Dean. Or myself. Since I’m so ridiculously jittery-

 

Dean pulls the door open.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been such a long time coming! Really getting to the tail end of the story now.   
> Is anyone else ragin hard about wayward sisters? Fucking ludicrous decision tbh. I was so hopeful for Netflix to pick it up but I doubt it at this point. Ugh and I bet SPN will limp on for like three more seasons despite being very, very ready for retirement. God, it's infuriating.  
> Anyway, sorry, I hope you like this chapter! I used to be really nervous about it but it's past the point I even care very much any more lol

“Heard your footsteps,” Dean explains after a short pause. “How come you were just standing there? You OK?”

 

I open and then close my mouth before nodding shortly. “I’m alright. I was just thinking.”

 

Dean smirks and stands aside for me to enter. “Uh oh.”

 

I huff a laugh but the sound fades as I listen to the song playing. It’s ‘Is This Love’, the song that Dean played for me on our first official date. I turn and look at him.

 

“I like this song,” I say softly. Dean smiles at the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking a little shy.

 

“Yeah, me too.”

 

I sit on the bed and stare at him for a moment. He looks like he’s trying to think of something to say. I tilt my head with interest.

 

“You seem nervous about something, Dean.”

 

He sighs, slumps, raises his eyes to mine. “Yeah, I kinda am. Um. OK, just… just sit there, and I’m gonna get something out that I bought, and then we can just… go from there. Or whatever. OK?”

 

“OK,” I agree quietly. Dean purses his lips but strides purposefully over to his chest of drawers. He opens the sock drawer and reaches into the back, pulling out a plastic bottle. Bringing it over to the bed, he sits down a few feet away from me and carefully places it down between us. I pick it up, curious.

 

“Lubricant,” I comment after reading the label. “That’s practical.”

 

“It’s, uh, pretty crucial, from what I’ve read,” Dean mumbles, cheeks noticeably pink. I smile at him, putting the lubricant back down.

 

“You’ve been researching?”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Yes. And I- look, not that I thought I- but I wanted you to be, y’know, safe… so I got tested. Results came back today. All clear. But I do have protection if you still want and… look, is this- is this OK?”

 

I regard him fondly. His eyes have been darting from mine to the wall behind me to the bed and back again. As he finishes speaking he’s not looking at me, instead staring down at the bedspread with a tense set to his shoulders. He looks more scared than nervous. But he wants this enough to be sitting here, informed and prepared, asking if it’s alright.

 

I don’t answer right away. I pick up the lubricant and, standing, place it on Dean’s bedside table next to where he sits. He looks up at me, startled, as I turn to him and take his face in my hands. I slide a knee onto the bed beside him and then do the same on his other side, straddling his lap and settling down almost to his level. His wide eyes hold mine.

 

“Dean,” I murmur, searching his gaze, “I want you. All of you, in all ways, all the time. I have thought about this. I have considered whether I’m ready. And… yes. I am. Are you?”

 

Dean swallows but nods firmly, hands warm on my thighs. “Yeah. Yes.”

 

I break into a smile and brush it against his lips. “Alright then.”

 

Leaning back a little, I shrug out of my plaid shirt and then pull off my t shirt too, tossing them vaguely towards the end of the bed. Dean’s eyes are soft and liquid in the lamplight, the nerves seemingly fading as he watches me. I kiss him again, slowly, thumbs rubbing where my hands have settled on his shoulders. After a short time I decide that while it’s very nice to have Dean’s hands on my bare waist, I don’t want to be the only one removing my clothes tonight. I pluck at Dean’s shirt, making a muffled sound against his lips. He hums, pulls back only to lean in and kiss me again immediately.

 

“Dean,” I mumble reproachfully. He hums again and pulls back properly, tugging his shirt over his head. I smile, taking it from him and throwing it aside as I lean in and re-capture his mouth. I keep leaning, bracing a hand to the side, a laugh bubbling between our lips as Dean makes a startled sound and falls back onto his elbows. I grin down at him, basking in the sight of him breathless and flushed beneath me. He rolls his eyes, brushing his knuckles against my bare chest and stomach.

 

“Bully,” he accuses in a mutter, a faint smile belying the word. I shrug and dip down to kiss him again, cupping his jaw and going slow and soft. We’re both a little nervous; no sense in rushing anything. I drop my right hand to the bed to lean in once more, threading the fingers of my left hand into Dean’s hair. My hips start shifting against the man beneath me of their own accord; I hum lightly as he presses back up into the movement, still devoting most of my attention to the kiss. It goes on, pleasant and relaxed. I’m quite happy to stay like this indefinitely, but I can feel Dean growing impatient. I’m not surprised when he interrupts me after a few minutes.

 

“Cas…” Dean mumbles into my mouth, raising a hand to rest on my hip. “Come on.”

 

I break away and blink questioningly at him. “Am I supposed to be doing something in particular at this point?”

 

Dean stares up at me, eyes dilated and mildly confused. His expression clears with understanding after a moment, followed by what looks like chagrin.

 

“Right,” he breathes, pushing himself upright. He kisses me on the cheek apologetically. “Sorry. Forgot you’re even less experienced than me with this stuff. You should take that as a compliment.”

 

I smile, trailing my hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “Alright.”

 

Dean hesitates, glancing away and then meeting my eyes again. “Should I… I guess I should… take charge? Or something?”

 

He looks so unsure that I want to be able to take the lead for him, but he’s right; I have no real idea what to do. If we’re going to do this the way Dean wants to, he needs to be the more dominant one, and for once it’s what I want from him. I squeeze his shoulders and nod meekly.

 

“Just this time,” I whisper, holding his gaze. I pause and then something spurs me to add: “Please.”

 

Something settles in Dean’s eyes at that. He licks his lips and nods once, his posture shifting from uncertain to calm and purposeful. He flashes me a smirk. “Well, since you ask so nicely.”

 

I don’t have time to roll my eyes before Dean is shifting on the bed, gripping my thighs and using what little momentum he has to push me sideways and roll us neatly over. I give a small exclamation of surprise and blink up at him. He grins, looking rather proud of his easy manhandling of me as he settles his hands either side of my head and looms overhead.

 

“You’ve been using the gym,” I accuse, amused and somewhat impressed. I’m not light by any standards. He winks, clearly pleased with himself.

 

“Maybe a bit more than I used to,” he says airily, shrugging. I laugh, nudging my knuckles against his stomach. He raises his eyebrows. “Figured I’d have to bulk up a bit if I’m gonna be screwing you against shower walls.”

 

My breath catches at the bold statement. Dean’s been quite shy of directly referencing our sexual interactions so far, but he seems to be getting more and more comfortable with the growing intimacy of our relationship.

 

He raises a hand and sweeps my hair back from where a lock is tickling my forehead, his flirtatious smile gentling. Breaking our shared gaze, he leans in and kisses down my jaw and neck, running the flat of his palm down my chest and stomach. He makes his way down my torso with his lips and tongue, adding some teeth when he reaches my nipples. I relax and enjoy it, determined to let Dean be completely in charge all night.

 

It’s a good decision, as it transpires. Other than once more getting distracted by my tattoo - a regular occurrence whenever I have my shirt off - Dean seems focused and eager. He uses his hands and mouth to, as he puts it, ‘get me in the mood’, although I was already in ‘the mood’. I’m naked, moaning and not really paying attention by the time he gently shifts my legs apart and slowly eases my knees into a bent position. I definitely notice when he touches below my perineum, though.

 

“Oh,” I whisper, opening my eyes and frowning at the ceiling. “Dean-”

 

The light pressure disappears immediately. “Sorry, we don’t have to-”

 

“I was just going to say,” I interrupt loudly, raising my head to squint at him where he kneels frozen between my thighs, “that now would probably be a good time to open the lubricant.”

 

Dean flushes. “Right. OK. Yeah, I was- I was getting to that.”

 

He leans across me to grab the bottle from the bedside table and I cup his cheek, making him pause and meet my eyes. Tugging him down, I kiss him firmly and quickly before letting go. He huffs as he sits back, shaking his head.

 

“Can’t just call it ‘lube’ like everyone else,” he mutters. I smile, settling back and taking a deep breath.

 

It doesn’t hurt at first. It’s not comfortable, but it feels… interesting. It certainly holds my attention. I try not to squirm or make any noise that might discourage Dean, but I can’t help that my breath keeps catching and my hips shift with every increase of depth or pressure.

 

“You OK?” Dean murmurs. I nod, humming assent. He clears his throat and, somewhat abruptly, pushes in a second finger.

 

“Ah!” I grunt, tipping my head back and digging my heels into the mattress. I hasten to add: “I’m still OK, Dean.”

 

He pauses but then continues silently, settling his free hand on my hip and rubbing his thumb in soothing circles.

 

I don’t feel very soothed. The sensations assaulting me now are mostly various levels of discomfort edged with mild pain, but… there’s something about it, something oddly satisfying. Or perhaps it’s more that it feels like it would be satisfying, if I could just settle into the feeling.

 

I try to distract myself, to let it fade into a background rhythm until I get used to it. I raise my head once more to look at Dean. That, as it happens, is incredibly distracting. He’s watching what he’s doing with his fingers, skin pink and lips swollen from being bitten. His eyes are dark with lust, sharp with intent. I crane my neck and… yes, he’s definitely hard from this. I settle back and feel the smirk on my lips. Getting used to the fingers inside me is easier after that.

 

The third finger feels like it’s going to hurt a lot at first, but then Dean wraps a slick hand around my mostly softened cock and starts to pull and stroke in time with his other hand. I’m past self-regulation at this point; I squirm and arch my back, groaning softly, mouth open and hands fisted in the sheets, struggling to reconcile pain with pleasure and discomfort with enjoyment. The feeling of satisfaction is back from before, stronger this time, but-

 

“Dean!” I gasp, spasming in shock as his fingertips press a spot inside me that I can only assume is my prostate. It feels like a split second moment of orgasm, gone too quickly to enjoy properly. I can hear myself urging him to do it again and he obliges, causing me to push insistently against his fingers. He does it several more times and I can barely feel the pain or discomfort now, totally entranced by the new pleasure sparking within me.

 

“Cas,” he breathes, the closeness of his voice startling me into opening my eyes. He’s leaning over me, watching my face with gleaming eyes, lips parted and breath heavy. A shiver runs through me, as it usually does when Dean looks at me like this. Like he’s never wanted anything so much.

 

“I wanna…” he whispers, trailing off and then glancing down at where his fingers are still buried inside me. I gulp, fear momentarily prickling at me, but then I meet his eyes again and the desire there is impossible to deny. I feel it too.

 

“Go on,” I mumble. He hesitates so I clear my throat and jerk my head down at myself. “Go on, Dean. I’m ready.”

 

He inhales deeply and withdraws his fingers, picking up the discarded bottle of lubricant - lube - from the bed beside him. I watch as he slicks himself up, anticipation building inside me. If this is anything like it’s been so far, it might not feel good to start with but it could develop into something amazing. I want it, anyway, I know that much.

 

When Dean pushes slowly inside me,though, it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. It does hurt, but not enough to hold my attention. What does capture my focus is the intimacy of the moment; Dean hovers close over me, leaning forward on one hand and caressing my hip and thigh with the other. He’s watching himself ease in but as soon as he’s fully settled, he glances up and catches my eye, his breathing fast and strained. He manages a small, slightly incredulous laugh.

 

“You feel amazing,” he whispers, looking a little dazed. I can’t quite manage speech so I reach up and cup his face with both hands; his smile gentles and he drops down to kiss me softly. It’s then, with his mouth warm on mine, that he begins to move.

 

It all seems to happen both quickly and slowly after that. It just feels overwhelming for some time; all I can do is try to move with Dean, who is clearly doing his best to keep careful control of himself. I take shuddering breaths and dig my nails into his back and arch my own spine, focusing on the way Dean is nosing and mouthing at my neck, murmuring praise into my skin. I make myself passive, try to relax around the feeling of Dean inside me.

 

The feeling changes, subtly enough that I don’t notice until I start chanting things like ‘yes’ and ‘Dean’ and ‘please’. It’s still not necessarily what I would describe as pleasurable, but regardless I start to want more. Dean kisses my jaw, his shoulders becoming less tense beneath my hands. He stops moving gingerly and steadily, starts thrusting hard and fast, swearing in a muffled, slurred voice near my ear. I can hear myself gasping and grunting, the noises beyond my control.

 

The same indescribable bursts of pleasure from before return, but this time they seem to build on each other and multiply. It’s almost enough, the sensations quickly building towards a distant orgasm, but there’s something missing-

 

“Dean-” I rasp, thumping my head back against the pillow as he gets a hand on me, stroking roughly. His breath is hot on my neck, his chest and belly sliding slick with sweat against mine, his hips clasped between my tensed thighs-

 

“Oh- Dean, I- oh, fuck-” I groan, writhing, head spinning as I tip over the edge. I go slack as my orgasm fades, panting, eyes closed. I can feel Dean shuddering and cursing above me, against me, inside me, but I can’t dredge up the energy to even watch. I feel pleasantly drained.

 

The only coherent thought that floats into my hazy mind at that blissful moment, with Dean moaning rapturously in my ear, is that I really, really like sex.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!!! There will be an epilogue too :)

“Cas.”

 

I mumble and turn my face into the pillow, nuzzling my nose into the comforting softness. There’s a sigh from somewhere above me.

 

“Come on, sunshine, time to get up.”

 

Maybe if I stay quiet and still, the voice trying to pull me out of the last wisps of sleep will go away.

 

“Cas.”

 

Maybe not. I groan pitifully and roll slowly over, squinting my eyes open. Dean swims into view standing by the bed, amusement twinkling in his soft green gaze.

 

“Mornin’,” he greets teasingly, holding out a mug of coffee. I sigh again, rubbing my eyes and then peering sleepily up at him.

 

“Good morning,” I reply, reluctantly conceding to the fact that it’s no longer sleep time. “What time is it?”

 

Dean shrugs. “Not sure, probably around half nine? It was nine last I checked but that was a while ago.”

 

“Damn,” I murmur, heaving myself up into a sitting position and reaching out for the coffee. “Are we running late? Sam must be-”

 

“Sam needed some rest after Hannah left him, so I put him back in bed for an hour or two and decided not to wake you until I was gonna wake him. You’re right, though, we wanna get a move on soon.”

 

“Right,” I nod after a gulp of sweet, strong coffee. Hannah informed Sam yesterday morning that he was ready to finish healing on his own and that she would return to her vessel this morning, right after he’d woken up so he’d be well rested. From Dean’s words, though, the sudden loss of grace energy still hit Sam hard.

 

“Hey,” Dean says softly, cutting in on my thoughts. I look up at him to find him peering worriedly at me. “Um. Are… are you OK?”

 

I cock my head. “Why?”

 

Dean drops his gaze uncomfortably. “I mean… after last night.”

 

“Oh,” I say with a smile. I shift experimentally in bed; there’s some twinging soreness and a strange, vague bruised feeling, but nothing that concerns me greatly. “I feel very good about last night, Dean. You?”

 

Dean meets my eyes and a relieved grin breaks out on his face. He hastens to sit on the side of the bed, twisted to face me, and leans in close. I automatically meet him for a kiss, bemused but happy to oblige.

 

“Really good,” he murmurs against my lips, a smile in his voice. He nudges his nose against mine before pulling back and bounding to his feet, clapping his hands together.

 

“Right!” he says cheerfully. “Drink that and get dressed. I’m gonna go wake the sasquatch.”

 

We’re loading up the cars within twenty minutes, although Sam looks pale and weary. Dean wavers by the Impala as he watches his brother fold himself into the back seat of Charlie’s car.

 

“Maybe Hannah should swap with him,” I suggest quietly as I approach, holding a bag of Dean-approved road snacks. “So you can keep an eye on him.”

 

Hannah wasn’t supposed to be in her own vessel for this trip, but she pointed out very reasonably that it would be better for us to have a fully functioning angel for protection without the need to take over Sam’s body in the process. Once it was agreed, she quickly claimed a spot with Dean and me in the Impala, staring directly into my eyes with Sam’s grey-brown gaze. I’m well aware that she wants to stay close to me and it makes me a little uncomfortable, much as I like and respect her. I’d be more than happy for Sam to take her spot, and it would ease Dean’s worry too.

 

Unsurprisingly, Dean agrees to my suggestion immediately. Hannah, looking as stiff and awkward in her old vessel as she did in Sam’s, seems displeased with the new arrangement but I pull her aside and explain that Dean is worried about his brother. I’m uncomfortably aware that she can probably tell from my soul that I’m not telling the whole truth, but she only asks why she can’t share the back seat with Sam.

 

“He’ll need to rest,” I reply truthfully. “He’s tall. It’ll be better if he can put his legs up on the seat, have some room. And if you go with Charlie and Kevin, you get a whole back seat too.”

 

“I don’t require-”

 

“Please, Hannah,” I cut across her. “It just makes the most sense this way. We’ll be stopping off at a pre-arranged place for lunch and checking in with each other then. It’s only three hours away. Charlie and Kevin are worthwhile people, you can get to know them.”

 

Hannah squints unhappily at me, but shrugs and dips her head as she acquiesces to the swap. Sighing with relief, I go to fetch Sam from Charlie’s car as Dean chats to the redhead about the fuel efficiency of her vehicle, whatever that means.

 

Five minutes later, we’re trundling out of the bunker driveway with a rock song playing softly on the radio, Charlie close behind us.

 

Twenty minutes later, I look back at Sam to see him dozing, mouth slightly open. I smile fondly.

 

An hour later, I’m stifling a yawn and thinking that maybe I should have a doze myself. Dean might want me to drive after lunch - doubtful, but he might - and I ought to be alert-

 

“This is nice, huh?” Dean’s low voice cuts in on my sleepy thoughts, making me jump. I glance at him; he’s smiling at the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song that’s playing. I turn my attention to the land rolling past. It’s really nothing particularly noteworthy, but I shrug and nod anyway.

 

“It’s quite nice. There are some good-sized trees around. Not many of them, but I like the-”

 

“No, dumbass,” Dean laughs, rolling his eyes. “Not the scenery. I mean the three of us on a road trip together. Don’t get me wrong, I love the bunker, but Baby’ll always be home to me. Her, the open road, Sammy… and you. It’s just… I dunno, it’s all come together pretty nice.”

 

Dean’s voice is nonchalant, but there’s a keen undertone there. He really wants me to agree with him. I watch him curiously as I think about it. Dean’s not exaggerating when he says the Impala is his home. For most of his life, it’s been his only constant place to return to. It’s no small thing that he includes me, not only in his idea of what a family in the bunker looks like, but in the sacred space that represented the concept of home and family to him in the first place.

 

“It is nice,” I reply softly. “More than nice.”

 

Dean glances over and smiles at me, gaze bright and beautiful. He looks back at the road straight away, seemingly carefree and content, but I keep staring at him. I already knew I loved Dean and valued our recently developed relationship, but it’s really only just hitting me what I stand to lose if this all goes wrong. Not just the person I’m in love with, but a home and a family. Everything, really.

 

And there’s more than one way for things to go wrong, as per usual. It’s not just the obvious pitfalls like death, abduction or possession that frighten me. It’s also what Dean seemed to fear; what he still might fear, deep down. That reclaiming my grace might change me, change my ability to connect with Dean on the level I’ve been able to as a human. I’ve been so confident that it can’t happen, that my devotion to Dean is too much a part of me. And it is, but love can be as fragile as it is strong. Dean and I harboured romantic feelings for each other for years before I fell, never acting upon them, but became a couple within a weeks of my turning human. Granted, there were other factors involved, but who can say how crucial my change of species was? For all I know, changing back really could threaten what I have with Dean.

 

I turn my gaze back to the unremarkable scenery, glumly determined not to let it happen and even more determined not to entertain the notion that it might be out of my control.

 

Lunch is amusing. I stay at the table with Hannah and Kevin as the other three go off to order for us all. Kevin is texting his mother, so I turn to Hannah and ask her how her car trip was. To my pleased surprise, she smiles.

 

“Enlightening. Charlie is very talkative and Kevin is very knowledgeable. I feel that I’ve learned much about humans. Did you know that they worship gods I’ve never heard of? I thought we had even the most obscure human belief systems logged in Heaven’s records, but Charlie was telling me of a lord from the centre of the Earth-”

 

“’Lord of the Rings’ and Middle Earth,” Kevin interrupts without looking up from his phone. “They’re just books. Fictional stories. Charlie has a habit of talking about them like they’re real.”

 

Hannah looks slightly crestfallen and I hasten to reassure her. “Humans are very confusing because often what they talk about and engage with is not real. They love stories. Books, films, even just telling jokes to make each other laugh. In Heaven we don’t engage with art in such a way. I still struggle to tell what is fictional and non-fictional.”

 

Hannah is frowning. “Humans lie? For fun?”

 

I blink and then open my mouth to answer, but Dean slides into the seat next to me at that moment.

 

“Been tryin’ to explain that for years,” he says dryly. “Here’s your soda. Sam, drink your damn coffee, you look like a newly turned vamp. You ordered the steak salad, right? Not that grilled chicken crap you always get? Need some red meat in you.”

 

Predictably, Dean doesn’t want me to drive after lunch so I give into the lulling of the heater and the crooning ballads playing on the radio. I’m asleep within fifteen minutes of pulling out of the diner parking lot.

 

We check in at a motel overnight and eat dinner at the Italian restaurant across the street for convenience. Dean casts a doubtful eye at the menu.

 

“Fancy crap,” he mutters. Charlie scoffs at him and he scowls at her.

 

“What? I don’t come to these places.”

 

“Come on, you’ve never wanted to impress a date and brought them to a fancy Italian joint? Besides, you’d love most of these dishes.”

 

“No way, I’m finding whatever the equivalent of a meat supreme pizza is on here and ordering that.”

 

“Dare you to let me order for you.”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you really think that kindergartener shit works on me?”

 

“Double dare you.”

 

Hannah gives me a confused look. I shrug helplessly.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Dean is staring dubiously at his bowl of gnocchi ragu. Charlie takes a smug bite of her risotto and I peer at my own cannelloni in interest.

 

“It looks delicious, Dean,” I say happily. Dean humphs in response. I’ve let Charlie order for me too as a gesture of solidarity with Dean, who responded strongly to Kevin’s accusation of being a ‘fussy eater’ and accepted Charlie’s dare after all. I take a bite of my food and nod emphatically before swallowing. “As I thought. Delicious. Can I try yours?”

 

As it turns out, it’s lucky I got to try a forkful of the gnocchi before Dean does, because once he tastes it he finishes the whole bowl enthusiastically. Sam gives Charlie a fist bump.

 

I’m pleasantly surprised, after dinner and a strict speech from Sam about leaving early in the morning, to find that Dean has booked three separate rooms. One for Kevin and Charlie, one for Sam and one for the two of us. Hannah approaches me as I lift my duffel out of the Impala’s trunk.

 

“Should I wait in one of the cars?” she asks in a low voice. I shake my head.

 

“Please watch over Sam,” I ask her. “If he’s comfortable with it.”

 

She nods easily and I breathe a sigh of relief that she and Sam get on so well. Dean will be relieved, too, that Sam is being guarded and monitored.

 

I enter the motel room to find Dean already in boxers and a t shirt, sprawled in the bed with a beer, flicking through TV channels. He grins lazily at me as I unzip my bag.

 

“Beers are in the fridge if you want one too.”

 

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Are you warm enough?”

 

Dean tilts his head at me and pats the bed next to him. “Will be once you get in here too.”

 

I can’t possibly resist such an invitation, so I hurry to strip down to my own boxers and climb under the covers next to Dean. He slings an arm around my shoulders, sighing in a pleased sort of way as I roll into his side and push my face against his neck. He brushes a light kiss against my hair.

 

“I love you,” he whispers, rushed and almost inaudible, like it’s a risky thing to say. I squeeze his waist, smile hidden by his shirt, voice muffled when I reply.

 

“I love you too.”

 

He relaxes against me, rubbing my arm absently. “Tomorrow could be bad.”

 

I nod, eyes closed. “It could.”

 

“Don’t take dumb risks, yeah? I’d rather lose this fight and have all of us stay alive, than win it by watching anyone in this family die.”

 

I chuckle. “Are you including Hannah in our family now?”

 

“She saved Sam, so… yeah, sure. And maybe if you tell her she’s like a sister to you she’ll stop mooning after you.”

 

“Dean, she’s not mooning after me.”

 

“Really?”

 

I hesitate and then shrug, shifting against him. “Maybe a little. She just doesn’t know me very well yet.”

 

Dean snorts. “Right, because getting to know you makes you anything but more attractive.”

 

I pull back from him and prop myself up on an elbow, amused at his mildly grumpy tone. “Are you jealous?”

 

“Depends. You planning to act on her little crush?” Dean asks with raised eyebrows and a smirk. I roll my eyes.

 

“I have no current plans to seduce Hannah.”

 

Dean laughs. “Good. Not jealous then. Just admiring her excellent taste in men.”

 

I smile and lean forward to kiss him before dropping back down to my previous spot, getting comfortable with a sigh.

 

“Don’t worry about tomorrow. We have a good plan. We’re a good team.”

 

Dean hums in response and I yawn, snuggling closer into into his side. I'm already drifting off as I speak again.

 

“Everything will be fine…”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS I did it again. But this is the final chapter so you won't have to deal with my glacial update pace any more! And to think back when I first started publishing this thing I was updating weekly XD  
> I know I mentioned an epilogue but I'm not planning to do one, I'm sorry to say. I LOVE this story. It's the longest thing I've ever written. I've been publishing it for well over two years and writing it for closer to three. It's gotten the biggest response of any of my work and I'm fairly proud of it, mushy crap though it is. I love that so many readers have enjoyed it and I love the catharsis it's provided for me during my long, painful relationship with spn. But since I no longer watch the show, that relationship seems pretty much over and I'm afraid so is my motivation to add anything more to this series. It's time to lay it to rest. Mayhaps I will come back to my half finished epilogue at some point and decide to finish it and publish it, but for now please assume I will not and treat this as the final ending to the story. Of course you're free to imagine what may happen after this ending :)   
> Obviously I need to say a massive and heartfelt THANK YOU SO MUCH to every single reader who's ever read a single word of this trash, but especially all you beautiful souls who left comments and ESPECIALLY especially to those who have been around since I first came to AO3. As for those stalwart voyagers who followed me over from this story's beginnings on good ole ff.net... honestly I just adore you. All my readers, please know you're forever part of an experience that's been really special and precious to me.   
> And if this fic has been ended in a way that you're not happy with then I'm sorry but like... I tried :P   
> Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays! <3

I shout Kevin’s name in terror as Gadreel corners him, trying to stagger to my feet. It’s no use. My ankle is broken. Several ribs too. I can barely make it to my hands and knees.

 

It’s all gone so horribly wrong, so horribly fast.

 

The prophet looks incredibly young and pale and breakable, shrinking back against the wall as the angel advances. I cast my eyes around wildly. Sam lies unconscious on the floor. Charlie is at my side, groaning, clutching her bloodied head. Where is Dean? Last I saw he was sprinting after Metatron, face grim and determined. Where is Hannah? Has she left us?

 

I have to help. I have to do something. Gadreel is going to kill Kevin. He’s going to-

 

Dean bursts through the door, panting hard.

 

“Gadreel!” he shouts. Gadreel turns, but he’s too close for Kevin to run without being immediately caught. Dean glares at the angel.

 

“You piece of shit,” he says loudly. I wince. “Couldn’t do your job in Heaven, couldn’t keep your promise to heal my brother, and now you can’t even keep your asshole boss safe.”

 

Gadreel was snarling with rage all through this speech, but he stiffens at the last part.

 

“Where is Metatron?” he snaps.

 

“Still alive.”

 

Everyone in the room turns at the new voice and I sag with relief. Hannah stands in the main entrance to the building, chin up and eyes cold. I frown, not just from the slicing pain of my wrecked ankle and battered torso. Where are the angel tablets? Last I saw, Dean had them.

 

“You,” Gadreel is sneering, though his fists are clenched. He remembers Hannah’s cutting speech last time they met, then. “What have you done with him?”

 

Hannah tilts her head. “He won’t last long.”

 

With that, she turns and calmly walks out into the night. Gadreel glares after her but after a measuring glance at Dean, he strides across the room and follows her out. Dean immediately runs across to Sam and checks his pulse. Kevin knocks his head back against the wall, swearing in a shaky voice, mercifully forgotten. Charlie struggles to her feet and limps over to him. I close my eyes, dizzy with pain but beyond grateful that everyone seems to be alive. For now.

 

“Cas.”

 

I stir, blinking blearily up at Dean. He’s standing right next to me, staring down at me with an unreadable expression. I’m wobbling where I kneel so I sit down heavily, flinching at the impact as it shudders up my bruised flank.

 

“Dean,” I murmur. “Hannah- what did she- Metatron-”

 

“He got away,” Dean said quietly, squatting down. He seems unharmed, but he’s acting a little strangely. Tense and almost… sad. A resigned sort of sad. Maybe he’s just upset that Metatron got away. I know I am.

 

“How?” I bite out, trying not to sound accusing. Tears burn behind my eyes but I shake my head, more angry than mournful. “We had a plan. Did any of the plan succeed? Did you put the tracking spell on him? If not, this has all been for nothing. And Hannah. What if Gadreel catches Hannah?”

 

Dean watches me and my anger grows at his lack of response. “Dean! What happened with Metatron? Where are the angel tablets? Did- did he-”

 

I gulp, horrified at the idea that Metatron might have the tablets. But Dean shakes his head.

 

“Hannah took them. She spent enough time in Sam’s head to piece together all the stuff he’s learned from Kevin about the tablets. Used her own knowledge to work out the missing bits. She grilled Kevin about everything he knows in the car this morning. She realised that things were goin’ south here and… she snuck out to intercept Metatron. Put a holding spell on him. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that.”

 

He pauses and I nod impatiently at him to continue. He does, looking tired.

 

“Only held him for… maybe a minute? But the timing was good because I got there right then and put the tracking spell on him, with her help. Once he realised what had happened, he blasted us back and hot-footed it outta there. Hannah hid the tablets and she’s leading Gadreel to the motel where she can blast him away.”

 

I deflate as I listen to him talk, the anger draining out of me. I nod wearily.

 

“Right. That… that’s something. The tracking spell. Well done.”

 

Dean reaches out and gently touches my chin, raising my eyes to meet his again.

 

“What’s the matter?” he asks softly. I grimace at him.

 

“You know what.”

 

Dean moves his hand to cup my whole cheek. It’s nice, but public displays of affection like this are a little unusual for him. I’m starting to feel a little worried by his strange behaviour. He stares into my eyes, that odd faint sadness still present in his own.

 

“Your grace?” he asks simply. I exhale slowly and nod. I didn’t realise how much I wanted it back until it was out of my reach again. Dean strokes his thumb against my cheek and leans in to brush his mouth against mine. I accept the gesture of comfort gratefully, resting my forehead against his when our lips part.

 

“I got your grace, Cas,” Dean breathes warmly, almost too quietly to hear. I take a moment to register what he’s said, but when I do I pull back sharply, wincing as my ribs protest.

 

“What?”

 

Dean smiles, fond and wistful. “I got your grace. Well, Hannah did. She was already questioning him when I got there. She’s pretty damn determined to make you an angel again. Turns out she’s not as straight-laced as I thought. Torture’s certainly not beneath her. She got that answer out of him in thirty seconds flat. It was on a cord around his neck, like a weird little keepsake. Creep…”

 

I’m shaking my head in wonder, a smile breaking out across my face. “You got my grace.”

 

Dean sits back a little and pulls a glowing vial from his pocket, a black cord dangling from it. He hands it to me in silence and I take it from him with wide eyes and held breath, the various aches and pains in my body momentarily forgotten. But after a moment of inwardly exulting over finally reclaiming my grace, I pause and look back up at Dean. He’s staring at my grace too, mouth set grimly. My smile fades.

 

“Dean.” He looks up. “You don’t want me to do this, do you?”

 

Dean hesitates. “I… look, Cas, the short answer is not really. But you want it, and I so I want it for you. It just… scares me. But it’ll be OK. We’ll be OK.”

 

I stare at him, unsure. His eyes soften and he gives me a genuine smile.

 

“Do it, Cas. Really.”

 

He gets to his feet and steps back, looking determined. I feel a rush of emotion as I slowly unscrew the cap on the vial. Nerves, excitement, guilt, doubt, joy. But mostly gratitude for Dean, who is nodding encouragingly at me as I raise the vial to my parted lips with a shaking hand.

 

My last thought is a human is simple. I don’t want to lose him.

 

It feels so incredibly strange as my grace flows back into me, heals me, changes me too fast to keep up with. My eyes are open but my vision whites out. I gasp, overwhelmed. All the pain is gone. Even the smallest aches and bruises-

 

Abruptly, I’m no longer overwhelmed. Things seem to slow down as my mind speeds up and my awareness expands. I feel instantly calm. Stable. Things are how they’re supposed to be again. I can think again, properly, without all the confusion and emotion distracting me. I feel strong and steady. I feel good.

 

But… my wings. I climb to my feet without really thinking about it, vision still a glowing blur as my grace beams out from within me, reclaiming me. I don’t take any notice. I’m focused on my wings, which I can feel fanning out reflexively behind me, or at least the shadow of them that manifests on this plane.

 

They’re damaged. Broken. There’s pain, true pain rather than the shallow echo of it that occurs in my physical body. My wings are stiff and aching and I know immediately that I won’t be able to fly.

 

I draw them inwards protectively and then banish them from this plane, deciding to worry about it later. And I can do that now, choose when to fret over problems rather than be consumed by them at inconvenient times. It feels so damn good to be in control of myself once more.

 

Calm again, I settle my grace, feeling the ecstatic heat of it wear off to a light warmth within me, watching the glow fade from my vision. I’m staring up towards where the wall joins the ceiling. I can see in minute detail again, cataloguing the tiny details and textures of the rough bricks and the thick paint.

 

“Cas?”

 

My thoughts stutter to a halt and then pick up again, interwoven with strong emotion, and it’s not like before. This emotion is insistent. Always was. No amount of careful control will make it go away; I know that from experience. That used to frustrate me, but now it brings a smile to my lips.

 

I used to know this emotion as simply ‘Dean’. Now I call it love. They’re one and the same to me, anyway.

 

I lower my gaze to Dean and I don’t try to reign in the joy that washes through me at the sight that greets me. It feels so much more pure than it did when I was human. It’s all I feel, all I am in the moment.

 

He’s so fucking beautiful. His soul sparkles and shifts, but the core aura and the feeling it evokes in me have never changed and I have never encountered anything more captivating. I blink, adjusting my focus to take in his physical appearance. Wide green eyes, a familiar nose and mouth, the ever-present freckles. The sight used to be vaguely pleasing. Now, I’m surprised by the rush of affection that Dean’s face rouses in me. I became so attached to it when it was all I saw every time I looked at him.

 

I exhale deliberately - this is part of being an angel, imitating human conversational cues to integrate more naturally, second nature to me after living on Earth for so long - and then speak.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean visibly swallows, fingers flexing at his sides.

 

“Hey. How- how do you feel?”

 

I raise my hands and look at them, pondering all the ways in which I feel different. “It’s difficult to describe. I feel… restored. Strong again.”

 

Dean nods slowly. I tilt my head and look closely at his soul. It’s hard to read emotions from a soul but with practice and familiarity, it can be done. Dean is worried. Scared. Anxious. I feel an echo of those same emotions swirl within me as I step towards Dean.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Dean inhales unsteadily, eyes flickering over me. “Yeah. Well, I…”

 

He pauses and I wait, watching him carefully, aware that this is an important moment and an important conversation. Dean grimaces. He doesn’t like those.

 

“How do you feel, like… in your head?” Dean asks slowly after a pause. “Like… emotionally, I guess.”

 

He shakes his head as though dismissing his own words and for the first time, I find myself referring back to my human memories, keenly aware that my skills are limited when it comes to discerning the causes of emotions. I try to assess Dean’s words from a human point of view. I built up enough experience when I was without my grace to create a cross reference now. Besides, I clearly recall Dean’s fear that restoring my grace would alter my feelings for him. It seems likely that this is what frightens him now.

 

“Emotions were different when I was human,” I reply quietly. “More vivid, but messier and harder to control. However, the basic feelings are the same. Dean, if you’re concerned about my feelings for you… they’re unchanged. I love you, very much.”

 

I hold Dean’s gaze, remembering how hard that was to do sometimes as a human and marvelling that I had such little control over my physical reactions. For a moment, I feel a stab of wistfulness. I will miss my humanity. It was exciting and illuminating and somewhat freeing. It changed me, levelled me out somehow.

 

Dean’s eyes are shining a little.  

 

“You do?” he whispers. I nod firmly. It’s imperative that Dean knows this and feels secure in it. The prospect of trying to navigate a relationship crisis with Dean now fills me with terror.

 

Thankfully, a relationship crisis doesn’t seem imminent. Dean walks forward without warning and pulls me roughly into a hug, breath warm against my neck. I’m pleased that my time as a human has added to my reflexes; before falling, I generally had to consciously respond to a hug. Now, my arms automatically come up and hold Dean to me. I inhale and despite my angel senses experiencing smell very differently from my human ones, I can immediately pick out a familiar scent that is innately Dean. I squeeze gently, aware of my increased strength but not worried. Precise physical control is one of the many advantages of having grace.

 

I raise a hand and caress the back of Dean’s head lightly. I’m much better at expressing physical affection now than before I was human. Good. It’s important.

 

Dean pulls back and meets my eyes, his own gaze bright and tremulous. I slide my hand around to cup his cheek easily, naturally. I focus on his physical face rather than his soul, finding that I almost feel human again so close to Dean like this.

 

“Are we OK?” I ask in a murmur, seeking reassurance. There isn’t a verbal answer. I catch Dean’s glance down at my mouth as he leans in so I’m ready when he kisses me, tilting my head and responding firmly but carefully. The instant sense of utter distraction is gone, but there’s a gentle thrill in knowing that I have Dean in my arms, that he wants to be so close to me. I feel a subtly different kind of passion as I kiss him. No less potent, but slower and more balanced. Like I’m in control rather than helplessly swept up.

 

He pulls back and looks at me from inches away. I don’t have to read his soul to recognise the relief in him. I feel it too.

 

We’re going to be alright.


End file.
